Hear Me Roar
by Trevor the Enchanter
Summary: "When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." Combat veteran Matthew Holmes is forced into the body of Joffrey Baratheon just as the War of Five Kings begins.
1. Fish out of water

_This can't be real. _Matthew Holmes thought, looking over the crowd. The last thing he remembered, he was with his girlfriend Emily and now he was… _Where exactly am I? _

He looked down at his hands, pale skin so unlike his own. The first thing Matthew's mind registered was the overwhelming smell of the crowd.

"Okay, assess the situation." Matthew told himself, relying on the instincts that saved his life many times during the war. "I'm a white guy, long blonde hair, wearing strange clothes. The crowd looks like a Renaissance fair… but none of them would stink like that."

To his right, a man forced onto his knees waited for his sentence to be carried out. A young girl watched with terror, struggling to hold back tears. A man Matthew assumed was an executioner stood next to the block, grim-faced and awaiting orders.

A blonde-haired woman stood highest of all, looking down on the kneeling man with disdain. The crowd booed and cursed, reminding Matthew of the reenactments he had attended as a child.

The scene looked familiar, like something he'd read, but Matthew couldn't quite place it. Matthew's nose curled, the stench threatening to overwhelm his nostrils. "I've got to be dreaming." He stated quietly. _Even my voice sounds different. _Far more high-pitched than he was accustomed to.

He turned his head around quickly, blonde hair momentarily obstructing his vision. _My clothes are different, my voice is different, and this place is far too disgusting to be any kind of Renaissance fair._ No food stands, no parking lot, nothing he would have expected at such an event.

"Your Grace, what are we to do with the prisoner?" An elderly man hobbled over to Matthew.

"Why exactly are you asking me?" Matthew gave a shocked laugh. The old man looked familiar to, a chain with several different colors around his neck.

"You are the King, Your Grace." The old man bowed nervously. "And Eddard Stark is guilty of treason. We await your judgment."

_Eddard Stark, guilty of treason?! _Matthew took another look at those standing on the podium. _If Stark is up there, that must mean… Westeros! That's why this looks familiar. _

"Of course… Pycelle, is it?" Matthew stammered, his mind registering the sun beating down on his neck.

"Yes, Your Grace." He bowed his head and walked away.

Matthew identified Cersei Lannister, Ned Stark, _That must be Sansa! Little wonder she's so terrified! Her father's about to die! _The executioner was Ser Ilyn Payne, if he remembered correctly. It had been a long time since he'd read the books or watched the television show.

Two men were standing off to the left, the first a plump man with his hands in his sleeves. The one standing beside him had a small smile across his face. "Varys and Littlefinger; it has to be." Hopes that this was a mere dream vanished by the moment.

The Kingsguard, and the fattest man Matthew had seen in years wearing purple clothes. _If I remember things correctly, that's the High Septon. _But who was he? Matthew knew if he was his normal self, no one would be bothering to await his orders.

The pieces came together, everything hitting him at once. "I'm Joffrey?!" Matthew barely kept himself from screaming. _I'm freaking Joffrey?! _He couldn't even begin to explain how it happened but he'd been transported into Joffrey's body. Or traded places with or… Matthew had trouble wrapping his head around it.

_I'm in the body of a teenage psychopath. Not exactly what I wanted to wake up to. _Impossible as it seemed, none of this was a dream. _All right, if I'm Joffrey, then I'm going to have to play the role, at least until I can get some time to think about what the hell is going on. _Raising his voice, he began: "Ned Stark, you have confessed your treason. My mother wishes to have you sent to the Night's Watch, where you will be stripped of all lands and titles." Sansa looked at him hopefully. "There to spend the rest of your natural life."

Matthew considered his next move carefully. Sending him to the Night's Watch was no guarantee someone wouldn't kill him on the way. His death would turn the continent into a bloodbath, an act many were hoping for. "Lady Sansa has pleaded for me to show mercy and you shall have it. If your son and wife bend the knee and declare me the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, I will pardon their treason." Matthew gestured to his guards. "Take him to the tower cells and keep him there. Make sure he remains unharmed and give him all the food and drink he requires."

The mob continued throwing food and rocks at Ned Stark, an act Matthew made no effort to prevent. Cersei moved towards him, whispering into his ear. "He needs to be sent to the Night's Watch. You cannot look weak in the eyes of this city."

He lowered his voice and whispered to Cersei: "There are those in court who want him dead. I will not let them turn my Kingdom into a graveyard."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa approached him, weeping in gratitude. She stared at Matthew, still with youthful infatuation.

_She still has feelings for him… or me… or… after everything Joffrey's done? _Matthew looked at her, unable to fathom her foolishness. "Yes, I have decided to show mercy. Whether that continues will depend on the actions of your family." The crowd began dispersing, disappointed not to be witness to an execution.

Plans began forming in his brain. If he was truly stuck in the body of Joffrey Baratheon, he would have to adapt. _I can worry about how the hell this happened once I find a way back home. If I can, that is. _

There was a flash of disappointment on Littlefinger's face, fading so quickly Matthew would have that it was his imagination if he didn't know what the man was responsible for. Varys watched the spectacle with a neutral expression.

He turned to the Kingsguard and demanded. "Make sure he comes to no harm. They will not trade my Uncle for his daughters, but Lord Stark is a more valuable prize."

"Your Grace… your uncle is still besieging the Trident," Meryn Trant responded.

_Disgusting little worm. _Matthew's memory of the book and show was imperfect, and he wasn't positive he could rely on them anyway. _Even if the battle's happened by now, we probably haven't gotten word. _He overlooked how slow communication was in Westeros. "Keep him under constant guard. Have Ser Arys Oakheart look to his safety."

They knew better than to question him, rushing to carry out his orders. Matthew escorted Stark to the tower cells, still concerned about a hidden ambush that would claim Stark's life. During the trip, he struggled to wrap his head around the circumstances he found himself in.

Matthew punched the stone wall in a last desperate attempt to prove none of his surroundings were real. He cursed in pain, fortunately not throwing a punch hard enough to break his hand. "So I'm really stuck in this hellhole…"

Stark looked at him with a worried expression, knowing he was at Matthew's mercy. _Could show a little gratitude. If I hadn't arrived when I did, you'd have had your head chopped off. _

"Ser Arys, I trust you can keep Lord Stark safe," Matthew ordered.

"I swear it on my life, Your Grace." Arys gave a small bow. Far as Matthew was concerned, he and Barristan were the only ones to deserve the white cloak.

"You'll need help to do so," Matthew announced. No matter where Stark was, someone would try to kill him. "I'll assign several men-at-arms to assist you." If Eddard survived, he'd have some hope of stopping a continent-wide war.

He paced through the Red Keep, memorizing the entrances and exits. As it was Matthew's home for the foreseeable future, he considered it prudent to know his way around. "Take me to Lady Sansa." Matthew ordered his guards.

When Sansa was found, she curtsied and watched him fearfully. "Your Grace, what an honor." A slight blush was visible on her face.

"Courtesy as sharp as ever, I see." Matthew responded, looking her over. _This would only have been the start of your suffering. _He intended to prevent that, at least to the degree he could. "Your father's life has been spared for the time being." _Play the part. You're King Joffrey and you need to act like it. _

"My father is a traitor, Your Grace." Sansa had great difficulty looking at him.

"That may be but I know when it's time for mercy." Matthew took a couple moments to consider his next words. "I need you to write another letter to your mother and brother. Give them my terms."

Without a word, Sansa complied. Matthew gestured for his guards to turn around, not expecting Sansa to make any attempts on his life. "These are my terms. Robb and Catelyn Stark will bend the knee to me and declare me the true king of Westeros. Your father will stay at King's Landing to ensure their compliance."

"And what of me, Your Grace?" Sansa's feelings for him had not entirely disappeared, as her father's head had not been removed.

"We'll worry about that when it comes." Matthew stated evasively. _Best case scenario, I'd like to get you out of here where you can still believe in fairy tales and happy endings. _"I expect our betrothal is at an end, Lady Sansa. I can't be seen marrying a traitor's daughter, after all. And this might be a strange question, but how old are you again?"

"Thirteen, Your Grace." Sansa stared at him confounded.

Matthew forced back a shudder. _Thirteen?! God, this world is fucked up! _"Provided your family agrees to my terms, you will be returned to Winterfell."

"I understand, Your Grace." Sansa lowered her head sadly.

_She's still in love with him after all the shit he pulled?! _Matthew was astonished at it. True, that was the way the story was written, but the fact it took Joffrey having her father executed for her to see what he really was… "Or who I really am."

"Pardon me, Your Grace?" Sansa couldn't understand his strange behavior.

"It's nothing, Lady Sansa. Whenever you wish, I will allow you to meet with your father, although you will have to be escorted." Matthew walked off before she could say anything, uncomfortable speaking with the girl.

_Should have mentioned that right after Stark was taken to the tower cells. _It was an oversight Matthew would not normally have done but he had yet to fully adjust to being in Westeros.

"Ser Barristan, after today's events, I need some time to reflect on things." Matthew turned to the old man. Despite his age, he could see why he was known as such a renowned fighter. "If you would please escort me to my room…" He had yet to discover where that was and didn't want to look foolish by asking.

During the journey, Matthew looked through each door, memorizing as many people as he could. Barristan faithfully led Matthew to Joffrey's room, standing outside the door without being asked.

_The kind of luxury most people in Westeros could only dream of. _The room was around the size of his bedroom, but Matthew understood that entire families could live in smaller locations in King's Landing.

The bed was covered with multiple sheets, half a dozen pillows, a nearby desk and a wardrobe on the other side of the room. "Not as many clothes as at home, but still impressive." Matthew looked them over. Half a dozen outfits far more elaborate than anything he possessed hung on wooden pegs.

No way in hell am I going to have him dismissed from the Kingsguard." His thoughts went to Barristan. Keeping him around would help ensure his safety, the legendary fighting providing legitimacy to his kingship.

_If I can survive a nuclear war, I can certainly survive the likes of Westeros. _Matthew encouraged. _Granted, I'm a thirty-eight year old man in what… I assume is a seventeen year old body. _He didn't know if the ages of the characters were based on the book or the television show.

He had plenty of combat experience from two years fighting in a world war in addition to facing enemies at home. "Experience that is now all but useless." Matthew knew how to survive in a gunfight but hadn't so much as picked up a medieval weapon in his life. He knew hand-to-hand combat, giving him at least some competence.

_I've still got a brain and knowledge of most of the people around me. I just have to keep my head and start making plans. _Learning how to use medieval weapons would take years, time he didn't have. He intended to stay away from the thick of the fighting as much as he could.

Bad as it was, it could be a lot worse. He wasn't one of the smallfolk, who lived and died at the whim of the lord they served. Matthew was the King of the Seven Kingdoms. "Well, one of them, anyway." Stannis and Renly had already declared themselves King at this point.

"I've got a choice to make here: either focus on survival alone or act like a Connecticut Yankee and work to improve things." Matthew sat down on the desk, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard.

Survival would be the more prudent option. A society like Westeros would be resistant to change even if everyone would benefit from it. Whether this was a permanent condition, he didn't know.

Joffrey Baratheon/Lannister was a sociopath, a cowardly young man with a penchant for cruelty. _And it's exactly what got him killed. On the other hand, trying to be benevolent is likely to achieve the same result. Kindness isn't rewarded in Westeros. _

Matthew grabbed a piece of parchment from the disorganized desk and began to write down his thoughts.

_Enemies:_

_ Robb Stark_

_ Stannis and Renly Baratheon_

_ D… _"Damn it!" Matthew cursed, forced to dip his quill back in the ink. "Right, this isn't a pen."

_Daenerys Targaryen _She worried him the most, especially after her genocidal rampage. "I'll have to do some reading on anti-dragon tactics, maybe ballistae and cannons. No way in hell is she getting the Iron Throne."

_ The Night King _Matthew wasn't sure if he existed in this continuity but it was best to cover all his bases.

_ Olenna Tyrell _True, part of her motivation for poisoning him was protecting her family from a monster, which Matthew resolved not to be. That didn't mean he overlooked the fact having Tommen on the throne meant the Tyrells would hold the Iron Throne in everything but name.

There were of course many others but they were the ones who worried him most. Balon Greyjoy would be little more than an annoyance, assuming the same choices were made in the War of Five Kings.

"Still, as a King, I've got an obligation to look out for the people to the best of my ability." It wasn't something often lived up to, either in real life or in Westeros. "Should probably stop thinking 'real life' because this is real, least for me."

_Solutions:_

_ Decrease infant mortality: spread germ theory, introduce proper hygiene into Westerosi culture_

_ Hand washing, designing forceps for difficult births_

_ Four-crop rotation, perhaps primitive genetic engineering_

_ Build printing press if possible_

_ Find out if gunpowder or anything similar exists in this world. _Westerosi technology appeared to be Late Middle Ages, which had firearms and cannons, albeit very simple ones. "Something to inquire about at the next Small Council meeting." Matthew had an inkling as to how to design them but hoped he didn't have to do so from scratch.

_Win over the smallfolk _The last one would prove useful for both survival and improving the Seven Kingdoms. Matthew had several ideas on how to accomplish it, but as they were in the middle of a war, wasn't sure how much he would be able to do.

He considered adding human rights to the list but decided against it. Westeros barely even had the concept, let alone implementing modern values. "Not as if we really gave a damn during the war." Nearly one and a half billion corpses testified to their ruthlessness of World War III.

_Better not get ahead of myself here. _Matthew folded up the parchment. He didn't know if any of his goals were possible in Westeros, let alone all of them. Such a society would be resistant to change and even as King, there was only so much he could do to change it. _Once I spend some time here, I'll have a better inkling as to what I can do and what I can't. _

The ugliest part of Matthew's situation was being alone in the midst of extremely hostile territory. "Terra, Emily…" He missed his sister and girlfriend already, with no guarantee he'd ever see them again. Most of his friends died in the war but a few made it through.

_Tempting as it is to feel sorry for myself right now, I can't afford that. _On the remaining bit of parchment, Matthew mused what could have been responsible for sending him to Westeros. "Government experiment, divine intervention… I have no idea."

Looking over his list, he intended to focus on his human enemies first. Robb Stark was formidable but politically naïve. Stannis was the one who worried him the most despite his currently tiny army. He'd faced overwhelming odds and triumphed over them, much like himself.

"Okay, at least I've got a game plan." Matthew knew how to handle danger. Nevertheless, he remembered the signature words. "If you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die."

XXXXXXXXXX

Yeah, pretty shocking finding yourself in the body of a brutal, idiot king who ended up getting himself killed. We'll see if Matthew will actually be able to improve things. This is Westeros so this isn't going to be some magical fix-fic.


	2. Complications

Eight reviews? I have to say, I'm very flattered at the response and in so short a time. Just for that, I'm going to post this chapter a few days ahead of schedule.

And if anyone's interested, I made some changes to the first chapter.

XXXXXXXXXX

A knock on the door of the royal chambers stirred Matthew out of his slumber. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and did a few stretches before facing the new day.

"Come in." Matthew called, being sure to keep a knife close at hand. His hand unconsciously went down the chain mail he wore in his sleep. With Joffrey so universally loathed, he wasn't about to take any chances regarding his safety.

A young lady walked inside, clothes carefully folded in her arms. Upon seeing Matthew's sleepy demeanor, she stuttered. "I apologize for waking you, Your Grace."

"It's fine; needed to get up anyway." Matthew stretched a second time, looking through his wardrobe. "Thank you for delivering my clothes to me." Looking at her closely, he noticed the girl's bright red hair and freckled cheeks.

"You are… most welcome, Your Grace." She responded timidly.

"Now I don't believe I caught your name." Matthew inquired. In the week _At least I think it's been a week _since he arrived, he'd been so overwhelmed with adjusting to the new world, he failed to note any of his servant's names. Not that it was unusual for royalty but he considered knowing who was working for him to be essential.

"Emily, Your Grace." She bowed.

_You must really hate me. _Matthew didn't know whether he was directing that statement to God, fate, or some other higher power that placed him in Westeros. His maid even looked like his girlfriend, though she lacked the confident, powerful demeanor he'd grown accustomed to waking up next to. "That's a lovely name."

"Your Grace is most kind." Emily blushed, still unwilling to look at him. "I can assist you with…"

"Thank you, but that's not necessary." One thing Matthew insisted on was dressing himself. King or not, he refused to be treated like an invalid. "I trust my breakfast has been prepared."

"He will be bringing it to you shortly, Your Grace."

"In that case, I intend to prepare myself for the rest of the day. Is there anything else you have for me?"

"No, Your Grace. If there is anything else I can do to serve you…"

"Thank you for offering but no." Matthew flashed her a smile, hoping it would ease her fear. He was certain Joffrey didn't restrain his cruelties to Sansa Stark.

Emily removed herself from his chambers, Matthew pretending not to notice the relief visible on her face. "I'll have to work on that."

He took advantage of the momentary solitude to relieve himself in the chamber pot. Matthew disliked the necessity but he'd grown familiar with a lack of plumbing facilities during his fighting in Indonesia. _Perhaps design a sewer system. How exactly I can do this, I don't know yet. _

Once his breakfast was brought, Matthew thanked his servant and asked to be left alone. He retired to his desk and began re-reading the books he requested the first night he was transported to the hellhole commonly known as Westeros.

"Books on the Dornish War…" More than anything, Matthew wanted to know how they succeeded in resisting Aegon's conquest. They were then the weakest of the Seven Kingdoms but succeeded when all the might of the Reach and the Stormlands failed.

_Not that much of this is very useful. _Matthew thought. The information was often inconsistent and both sides were prone to embellishment. Some claimed Meraxes was killed by a scorpion bolt to the eye, a single shot from blind chance. Others claimed it was merely the final blow in a clever ambush that inflicted a hundred wounds.

He scribbled down a few notes on the parchment, brainstorming ideas to kill the dragons when the time came. "Perhaps I should focus on my current enemies." Matthew considered. He couldn't count on canon delivering a Lannister victory.

Satisfied that he had written down everything he could for the moment, he locked the doors and prepared himself for the Small Council meeting. "And won't they be surprised when I show up…" Matthew intended to savor the looks on their faces.

Stacking the books carefully, Matthew exited his chambers and requested for Barristan to escort him. _Unlike the real Joffrey, I'm not stupid enough to remove him. _

In the throne room, he witnessed Sandor Clegane staring at the Iron Throne in disgust. "Not that I blame him…" Matthew muttered. It was a 1,000 sword monstrosity, quite unlike the mere chair the television show portrayed.

He tried not to cringe when looking at Clegane's face. _Little wonder he hates Gregor so much. _Sandor would have towered over Matthew at his old height, let alone the smaller body of Joffrey.

"Clegane, you're just the man I wanted to see." Matthew clapped his hands together.

"Anything you need, Your Grace." Sandor growled. He didn't bother to hide his glare, something Matthew expected Joffrey would have been too oblivious to notice.

"Much as I enjoy your company, there's another job that I find suitable for your talents." Matthew informed. "A lot of people are going to die in this war and I don't intend for my siblings to be among them. Your job will be to ensure his safety."

Sandor stared at him as if unsure he had heard correctly. _Not surprising, considering the way Joffrey treated his siblings. _Matthew despised such cruelty. However annoying he found his sisters, he would never have treated them so poorly. "Yes, you heard me correctly, Clegane." Matthew repeated after he stayed silent for close to a minute.

"Course, Your Grace." Sandor shuffled off to carry out his orders.

"Mental note: keep him away from Sansa." The pairing might have been popular but Matthew hadn't forgotten Sandor's intent to rape her during the Battle of the Blackwater. He might not have gone through with it, but it didn't count for much with him.

Matthew was slightly out of breath walking up the stairs to the Small Council chamber, Joffrey's body not used to such labor. "I see you chose to start without me." He remarked, sitting down in the King's chair.

It took several moments for anyone to respond. "We apologize, Your Grace." Varys bowed his head. "The duties of the realm wait for no one."

"Well, things are going to change around here." Joffrey had never attended a Small Council meeting and Robert had done so perhaps half a dozen times in his reign. "I've been neglecting my duties long enough. Much as I loved my father, this is one area where I have no desire to follow in his footsteps."

"We have just received word that Ser Jamie Lannister has been captured and his host defeated." Littlefinger informed. "The Siege of Riverrun has been lifted."

"We work to get him free immediately!" Cersei called out, heartbroken at the news.

"All the more reason why we need to make sure nothing happens to Ned Stark." Matthew announced. _I'll have to speak to him when I get a chance. _"We won't be letting him go of course but with two members of the Stark family, we can keep my uncle from being harmed. Any luck finding Arya?"

"Most likely, her body resides in Blackwater Bay." Varys gave a falsely sympathetic sigh. "I've heard no word of her whereabouts."

"Offer a reward of twenty gold dragons to anyone who brings her to the Red Keep, alive and unharmed." Matthew ordered. "Any injuries she suffers will be repaid a hundredfold." He didn't expect it to do much good but the effort would be made.

"Once Father arrives, we can start putting this city to order." Cersei remarked. "Stannis Baratheon is already proclaiming himself King, spreading false rumors to delegitimize our family!"

"He also happens to have the tiniest army." Matthew reminded. "Uncle Stannis is not our primary concern right now. As for Grandfather, he's a little busy being humiliated by a green boy."

Matthew felt the gazes of Littlefinger and Varys burn into his skin. He knew Joffrey's changed behavior would not go unnoticed but hoped to hide his true nature for at least a little while longer.

"Your Grace, Tywin Lannister has suffered only a minor setback." Pycelle mumbled.

"Regardless, he's not about to arrive in King's Landing, royal command or not." Matthew spoke. "Regarding the rumors about my parentage, I suggest we treat it with the silent contempt it deserves."

"Anyone foolish enough to speak such falsehoods will have his tongue ripped out!" Cersei declared.

"The only thing you'll accomplish is convincing people you have something to hide." The conversation felt familiar to Matthew, although Tyrion was the one having it. "We will not dignify ourselves with such lies." Beneath Cersei's mask of fury was terror.

"I've heard a few rumors of my own." Littlefinger remarked, rapping his fingers on the table. "Certain secrets some may not want revealed."

"My Uncle Renly is the biggest threat right now. How many men does he have following him?"

"Almost 100,000, Your Grace. He is marching through the Reach and the Stormlands, gathering new followers wherever he goes." Varys informed.

"How many men do we have?" Matthew's eyes went to the seat where Janos Slynt would have sat.

"Three thousand gold cloaks and six hundred men-at-arms, Your Grace." Littlefinger admitted, Matthew catching a slight hint of nervousness.

"Hardly in our favor if Renly decides to assault King's Landing. Do what you can to shore up those numbers and feed the city. With food from the Reach cut off, it won't be long before starvation sets in."

"Lord Renly is moving at a leisurely pace, Your Grace."

"And gathering more strength by the day. Lord Varys, I've heard certain rumors about my uncle. He and his squire Loras Tyrell seem unusually close, perhaps even… intimately close."

"Tell the world that he's a sword swallower and an abomination." Cersei delighted at the idea.

_Rather hypocritical on your part. _"Your Grace, I am curious as to how you discovered such information." Littlefinger viewed Matthew with a new respect and wariness.

"I've heard things… but true or not, it doesn't matter. The smallfolk love a good story; the more outlandish, the better. And it might just convince some of those flocking their banners to him to reconsider." Matthew hated using Westeros' homophobia but he'd take any advantage he could get in the war. "Have ravens and town criers spread this information across the entire continent."

"And what of Stannis, Your Grace?" Pycelle warned. "Your uncle has little support but he is an experienced military commander."

"I've got other plans for him." Matthew wasn't certain it would work but nobody on the Small Council needed to know the details.

Discussion continued about the war situation. The raven sent to Robb had yet to reach him, and with two Lannister armies broken, their position was a precarious one.

"Exactly who does the Crown owe so much money to?" Matthew changed the subject. "I am aware we are six million in debt, three million to my Grandfather. I want to know the specifics of the other creditors."

"700,000 to the Tyrells, 900,000 gold dragons to the Faith, 850,000 gold dragons to the Iron Bank of Braavos, and the reminder to Tyroshi banks." Littlefinger informed him.

_And how much of that have you stolen? _Even a fool could have robbed the treasury blind under Robert and whatever else he was, Littlefinger was no fool. "Repaying the debt to the Iron Bank will be our first priority upon conclusion of hostilities. Once we are victorious, the Lannisters and Baratheons will own the Crown's debt regardless."

"Your Grace, paying off debt in the middle of a war is…" Littlefinger warned before Matthew interrupted him.

"Best to make long-term plans. I know the Lords who fight by our side will want to be rewarded but we will still have enough remaining to reduce our debt."

_These people make me want to slam my head against the table. Or theirs. _Matthew griped, listening to everyone argue. He ignored an internal voice screaming for blood. As he was the King, however, they could not disobey a direct order.

"One final thing: I have a Royal Decree in mind." Matthew wished to at least do something to assist the common people. "We're going to require all midwives and anyone else assisting in the birthing process to wash their hands in water, preferably with a bit of wine mixed into it."

"Your Grace… may I inquire as to the reason?" Pycelle mumbled, playing the part of a doddering old man. Matthew wasn't fooled for a moment. Varys and Littlefinger stayed silent.

"In the interest of the mother's health and the child's." Matthew continued. "Far too many die in the birthing bed or shortly afterwards. I intend to put an end to that." It was likely to lead to an overpopulated city but one crisis at a time. "Is there any literature that indicates the benefits?"

"I believe Aegon the Conqueror's personal Maester Theon claimed the same thing." Pycelle spoke slowly. "He was a lunatic. The man believed diseases was caused by creatures too small to be seen! What nonsense!"

"Nevertheless, this is a direct order." Matthew allowed no room for argument. Knowing he would need support, he turned to Cersei and said: "I hope you're not refusing to carry this out."

"Of course not, Your Grace." Pycelle gulped, having gotten the message.

"My Lords, I would like to speak to my son in private." Cersei announced, everyone swiftly departing.

"What would you like to speak to me about, Mother?" Matthew wondered. Knowledge of the books and television show wouldn't prepare him for everything.

"Why are you taking such an interest in the Small Council, sweetling?" Cersei smiled, hugging him. Matthew did his best not to cringe.

"Someone has to do the job." Matthew removed himself from her embrace as soon as he decently could. "My father almost never attended them and the realm is nearly bankrupt as a result.

"Your father… was your father." Cersei concealed her hatred with a sweet smile. "He had other interests."

"I know his failings as well as you do." Matthew sighed. "I'm aware you didn't get along and I know that he struck you multiple times." Personally, he would consider it a mutually abusive relationship but knew how to strike an emotional chord with Cersei.

"I'm so sorry you had to hear that." Cersei gave the first hint of genuine remorse Matthew ever saw from the woman.

"It is what it is." Matthew gave the appearance of a sad sigh. "All the more reason why I shouldn't be like him, shouldn't it? I don't intend to spend my life drinking and whoring."

"You've always been a special young man."

"And you're one of the reasons for my decree." Matthew lied. "Giving birth to me and my siblings was dangerous, wasn't it? How would it have gone for you without that risk?"

"For your sake, I would have endured it a hundred times over. Robert's cruelties, his humiliations… all of it." Cersei took his hands in hers.

"And now I'm King. Not a duty I was expecting for a long time. Oafish as my father was, I still miss him. I can't do this without you, but I also need you to listen to me. The burden's on my shoulders now and I can't afford to waste any more time."

"Whatever you need, you only have to ask." Cersei hugged him again. Love for her children was her only redeeming trait.

"We're family and I won't let anything happen to you." Matthew allowed himself a private smirk. He wasn't about to let Cersei's foolishness destroy the realm, not if he could prevent it.

XXXXXXXXXX

"How are you being treated, Father?" Sansa asked the next time she was allowed to visit him.

"They're treating me well." Her father responded, keeping up his spirits for her sake. His clothes were clean and he was well-fed, befitting a prisoner in the Tower Cells. "I'm more interested in hearing about you, Arya, and everyone else."

"I'm being looked after." Sansa promised. "But my marriage to King Joffrey is at an end." She wasn't sure what to feel about that. Their families were at war and her sister had disappeared, with no one knowing what happened to her. But she wasn't quite ready to give up on her dream.

"Perhaps that's for the best." Her father smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry, Father. I'm not allowed to tell you what Robb and Mother are doing." Sansa wanted to tell him everything but she swore a vow to King Joffrey and couldn't bring herself to break something so sacred. "I pray for peace every day."

"I pray for you." Her father approached her, bending down to eye level. "Have you been harmed?"

"No, he's been as kind as could be." Sansa responded. But her pleas for her father to be freed had been ignored. She couldn't fathom what it would be like to live without him, never see him again after she was sent home.

"Despite everything that's happened, I look forward to your visits." Sansa hoped her father could see she was telling the truth. She felt her dreams disappearing from her grasp.

_Maybe we can still marry after all. _Sansa thought. Someone as handsome as Joffrey couldn't be a bad man and perhaps it would allow the war to end. The stories weren't lies. They couldn't be.

"He's going to be sending me home soon, once Robb bends the knee." Lowering her voice and whispering in his ear. "Robb's taken Jaime Lannister prisoner. He's won every battle."

Ned smiled with pride. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from him. I'm sorry you're in this situation, Sansa."

"I'll keep working to get you free." Sansa promised. She spoke with him for a while longer about small matters before reluctantly departing, carefully walking down the stairs so as not to trip over her dress.

Joffrey was waiting for her at the end of the staircase, Barristan Selmy standing beside him. Sansa took a step back before reminding herself there was no reason to be afraid of him. "Your Grace, how can I serve you?" she curtsied.

"There's no need to worry about formalities right now; it's just us." Joffrey smiled at her. "I know this has been difficult for you. How are you holding up?"

She loved to see Joffrey smile. Sansa fought down the impulse to kiss him, reminding herself it wasn't ladylike to make the first move. "Have you heard any news about Arya?" She never liked her younger sister, but it didn't mean she wanted to see her dead.

"I'm still looking for her." Joffrey sighed, rubbing his temples. "But that's not the reason I'm here. I wanted to… to say I'm sorry for everything that's happened. I didn't want any of this."

"My father is a traitor, Your Grace." Sansa spoke, the honorific being spoken unconsciously.

"Yes, and I and my siblings would have been killed if his plan succeeded. I know my father was a drunk but he was still my father." Joffrey scowled, turning away from her. "Soon as your brother bends the knee, I will send you back to Winterfell. You might be upset about this, but you'll be far better off not residing inside a shithole like King's Landing."

_When did Joffrey become so crude?! _Arya would probably giggle but Sansa couldn't believe he would swear in front of a lady. "And our marriage?" She still held hope he would change his mind.

"As I said before, that isn't going to happen. You're still a traitor's daughter and I don't think you understand what marriage would mean for you anyway. Too much has happened between our families for that to be possible. If the Gods are kind, I can prevent more from happening."

It meant she would be Queen, married to a handsome and noble King, bearing his children. Sansa felt her heart shatter. Hiding her deep disappointment, she responded with: "As you wish, Joffrey." She fled from his presence, struggling to hold back tears.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Does he intend to keep me here forever?" Ned Stark asked himself, voice echoing through the walls of the Tower Cells. Looking carefully at the door, he could see Arys Oakheart and two Gold Cloaks on the other side assigned to guard him.

He had been given no news of the outside world. The servants who provided him with food and drink were ordered to keep him ignorant. Sansa told him a few things when she could get away with it, which wasn't often.

If Jaime Lannister was captured, that meant the War in the Riverlands had turned in their favor. Ned considered it unlikely it would convince Tywin to yield, not after Catelyn had so brazenly kidnapped Tyrion. However, a victory was better than a defeat.

More than anything, he worried about Joffrey. Had he not been captured, he would have broken the betrothal anyway. Tormenting the butcher's boy, having the Hound kill him afterwards, along with numerous other cruelties he witnessed…

That night, outside the door, Arys spotted four shady characters in cloaks marching towards him. Being warned that someone might try to assassinate Stark, he raised his sword in warning.

Three crossbow bolts impacted him. None penetrated his armor, leaving little more than a slight bruise. Before he could charge forth, however, the two Gold Cloaks assigned alongside him tackled him to the ground, removing his helmet and taking out their blades.

Not to be deterred, Arys grabbed his own dagger and stabbed one of them through the throat in their struggle. With only one assailant remaining, the remaining Gold Cloak thought it best to flee before the same happened to him.

However, the struggle allowed the assassins to reload their crossbows and without his helmet, Arys' face was vulnerable. He succeeded in evading the first bolt, deflecting the second with his arm, but the third went through his face, killing him instantly.

Throughout the battle outside, Ned listened, resigned to his fate. _I won't give them the satisfaction of trying to run. _Not that he could anyway inside a cell. So long as his daughters were safe, he didn't care what happened to him.

When the cell door opened, Ned braced him for a flurry of bolts but they did not come. Not yet at least. The man walking into the cell was none other than Peter Baelish.

"Such a delight to see you again, Stark." Littlefinger's smile was impossible to see in the torchlight but Ned was certain of his gloating.

Having nothing to lose, Ned barreled at Littlefinger. Not anticipating an attack, Baelish was swiftly overpowered and dragged to the ground. If he was to die, Ned intended to make sure Baelish died with him. He squeezed the man's neck with all his might.

Only when bolts penetrated his shoulders was Ned unable to keep his grip. Littlefinger hastily moved out of reach, coughing and holding his throat. Regaining his composure, he admitted: "I was certain Joffrey was convinced to kill you, but he seems to have gathered his senses." He spoke slowly, his neck still raw and painful.

"Should have known you were the one responsible." Ned spat, staggering to his feet. The assassins physically subdued him, forcing him onto his knees.

"I'm afraid I have plans for the Seven Kingdoms, ones that do not involve you." Littlefinger pulled out a knife. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time. Do give Brandon my regards." Littlefinger opened Ned Stark's throat and he knew no more.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ned was never going to survive this, no matter what Matthew did. I've always felt Littlefinger had a hand in his death, since out of everyone in King's Landing, he had the most reason to see Stark dead.

As for any questions about Sansa's behavior, keep in mind she's not the hardened player she is in the last seasons of the show. She's still a young, naïve girl and as Joffrey didn't chop her father's head off in front of her, Sansa still has some feelings towards him. We'll see if that lasts.

Matthew isn't going to be able to rely on canon for long. His very presence has changed things in ways no one can hope to predict.

Next chapter: we get to see how GRRMs favorite character responds to the events of King's Landing.


	3. Catharsis

In response to one of the reviewers, I'm keeping the younger character's ages from the show rather than the book. I'd say this story is a composite: around 60% from the book, 30% from the show, and 10% my own ideas about the world of Westeros.

"I would have thought my dear nephew would be out here celebrating his name day," Tyrion Lannister admitted, Bronn and Timett at his side.

"Maybe he's chosen to celebrate in a different way, if you know what I mean." Bronn suggested with a chuckle.

"Maybe." Tyrion looked over at the tournament, a far more pathetic sight than the one Robert Baratheon held before the war. He looked up at the stands, not seeing Joffrey where he would have expected him. Few smallfolk bothered to attend and those who did only uttered a few cheers. No one deigned to notice them, Tyrion turning his eyes away from the sight and traveling to the Red Keep.

During his trip, he took in the measure of King's Landing. The city had always been filthy and noisy but now it reeked of danger that it lacked in his previous visits. There were at least twice as many gold cloaks as there were a month ago yet safety was little more than an illusion. Tyrion watched over the beggars on the streets, those who recognized him watching with both desperation and hatred. Had he gone unescorted, he expected he would have been torn to pieces.

What little food was available cost twice the normal price. Guards could be found at every shop and inn, their owners desperate to hold onto what little they had.

Tyrion was relieved when he reached the Red Keep, though his face revealed nothing. He knew things were only going to get worse the longer the war continued. Being sure to keep his father's letter clutched tightly in his hand, he marched towards the Small Council chamber.

Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Boros Blunt stood at the door, the former holding out a hand. "Stop. By order of King Joffrey, the council meeting is not to be disturbed.

"You're telling me my nephew is actually attending a Small Council meeting?" Now Tyrion really had seen everything.

"He is. And he gave specific orders to keep things private." Moore's face was still impassive. His brother Jaime mentioned that Mandon Moore was the most dangerous member of the Kingsguard, excepting himself, because no one could tell what the man was thinking.

"Surely that doesn't apply to his beloved uncle and the Hand of the King." Tyrion showed him the letter written by his Father appointing him in his absence. "I've even brought friends to assist in our defense."

Bronn took a casual step forward, Timett staring coldly with his one good eye. Boros' hand went to his sword while Mandon looked them over carefully, considering his options.

"You may enter," Mandon reluctantly conceded. "They may not."

Savoring the small victory, Tyrion all but pushed past the two Kingsguard and entered the Small Council chambers. He saw the usual council members, along with his sister, discussing a plan of action. However, his eyes were focused solely on his nephew.

_This can't be my nephew. _Tyrion thought but the King's presence was unmistakable. He sat in his chair, hands folded, looking at those who were supposed to serve him.

His nephew was far more serious than Tyrion had ever seen him. And far more dangerous. Joffrey was prone to petty cruelties from a young age but the look he had in his eyes now… _He's almost the spitting image of my Lord Father. _How the boy changed so much in a short span of time, Tyrion did not know. It was almost as if he had been replaced.

Tyrion had no more time to consider the changes as Joffrey spoke up, saying "So what you're telling me is that Ned Stark has been found murdered and none of you have any idea who was responsible?" His voice lowered, making Tyrion's heart pound unconsciously.

"Ned Stark is dead?" Tyrion interrupted, his mind absorbing the implications. Tywin had sent him to King's Landing out of concern that Joffrey would prove inept at ruling but last he heard, Stark was still alive.

"Good of you to join us, Uncle Imp," Joffrey greeted, Tyrion choking down his rage as he had done many times over the years. "And yes. Two nights ago, Stark was found murdered in his cell, Ser Oakheart's corpse beside him. But not the two Gold Cloaks I ordered to assist him, telling me they were involved."

"Your Grace, I will find out who planned such a treacherous attack," Janos Slynt proclaimed, chins shaking from side to side. "Rest assured that this man will not escape justice!"

"How could this have happened, nephew?" Tyrion demanded. "With Ned Stark dead, our situation has grown far more dangerous." If this was how his nephew's reign was beginning, he likely wasn't going to last long.

Instead of the anger and threats Tyrion anticipated, Joffrey responded with a sigh: "I made a mistake. I underestimated how much danger he was in and failed to provide enough protection. I believed Arys Oakhart and half a dozen men at arms would be sufficient, but I was wrong."

_So many guards? _Tyrion wasn't sure what frightened him more: Stark needing so much protection or that it still wasn't enough. He looked over the Small Council members and his sisters, curious as to who was responsible. Baelish wore a pained grimace he attempted to keep hidden, Cersei snarled in fury, and Varys was impassive as always.

"And these fools have learned nothing!" Cersei fumed. "I had hoped to have Stark take the Black and perhaps make peace with that son of his, but that's impossible now. I hope all of you can give me some answers or else I'll find men who can!"

"I don't think that's going to be necessary just yet, Mother," Joffrey raised his voice. His cold anger returned, making everyone else at the table back up. "When such occurrences happen, I ask myself a question: Who Benefits? Who would want Ned Stark dead?"

"There are many such people who wished him gone, Your Grace." Varys bowed his head.

"And your little birds provided no warning of any such attempt, so I'm wondering where your loyalty really lies," Joffrey glared. Cersei turned toward Varys, making him realize he was in a great deal of trouble.

"I've got a few suspects of my own," Tyrion admitted. "Lord Stark wasn't in the city long enough to make any enemies and we would have been far better served with his survival. Now we have three armies to face and a city under siege."

"It just so happens I have a name already. There's a man who has wanted Stark dead for many, many years." Joffrey watched those on his council for any sign of fear but everyone sat stoically. Almost everyone; Pycelle looked worried, fearing he would be considered at fault. "Lord Baelish, your grudge against Stark was well known."

"Your Grace, the rumors you have surely heard are mere exaggerations," Baelish responded calmly. Tyrion took note of the man hiding his left arm. He wore long sleeves, but at a second glance, the man was in great pain. "It's true I was involved in an altercation with Brandon many years ago but while I have no love for the Starks, I see no reason to see them dead. War impacts my businesses, after all." Tyrion saw a flash of nervousness on the man's face, heightening his suspicions.

"I've heard other things as well. That you've boasted of taking the maidenheads of both Catelyn and Lysa Tully is well known. And you fought that duel with Brandon for Catelyn's hand."

"A youthful indiscretion, Your Grace. I was but your age and overwhelmed by infatuation. I do carry a token of his esteem but this was nearly two decades ago." _He's been obsessed with Catelyn since he was a boy. _Tyrion remembered. To see Ned Stark, imprisoned and defenseless…

"Then perhaps you should reveal your arm, Lord Baelish," Tyrion broke out into a grin. "You know, the very thing you've been trying to conceal since I arrived."

"That sounds like an excellent idea to me," Joffrey laughed. "I've noticed it too, and your long sleeves. Show me your left arm." He stood up and approached Baelish. For the first time, Tyrion spotted visible fear. With an enormous wince, Baelish placed his left arm onto the table.

"You miserable worm!" Cersei screamed, turning against Baelish. "I'll have your tongue ripped out for this!" Joffrey pulled up his sleeve to reveal a splint on it.

Joffrey looked over the wound. "Spiral fracture. One only caused by someone grabbing and twisting your arm. Then there's the handprint bruises. If we compared them to Stark's hands, I think we'll find a comparison."

"Your Grace, I have served you well as Master of Coin, as I have your father," Baelish attempted a different tactic. "I have increased the crown's revenues tenfold and have earned a most comfortable living. Why would I throw all of that away just for the sake of a duel taking place nearly two decades ago?"

"Merely my skin accustomed to the new clothing. I will adjust soon enough."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Joffrey whistled for the Kingsguard to be brought in. Following his orders, they immediately restrained Baelish, his collar ripped off and his bruised neck exposed for all to see.

"I regret to say I tripped over my own feet and was forced to care for myself." Baelish's eyes darted around, with no more attempt to hide his fear. Cersei's eyes promised him a torturous death.

"Still doesn't explain the handprints. Guards!" Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant marched in. "Take Lord Baelish to the bottom cells. He is under arrest for High Treason."

"Your Grace, I swear to you, I'm innocent!" He begged. The Kingsguard dragged him out, his broken arm being touched causing him still more pain.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Littlefinger." Joffrey fired a parting shot. Tyrion turned his head at the development. And I suggest we bring in more men to ensure he arrives there. After the ambush on the Tower Cells, I wouldn't want to have any last-second rescues allowing him to escape justice."

"Should I start worrying as well?" Tyrion commented to break the silence. "We're now without a Master of Coin."

"For a lesser crime, I may have overlooked it, but Littlefinger ensured the Starks will fight us to the death. Would you expect Robb to believe any proclamations of innocence?"

"However much I loved my father, he neglected his duties, preferring to hunt and whore," Joffrey announced. "As a result, he overlooked too much. That time has come to an end. I will not overlook corruption in my Kingdom. Lord Slynt, I believe you know something about what I'm referring to."

"I've always been an honest and loyal man, Your Grace," Slynt raised a hand to show his sincerity.

"No, you're loyal to the highest bidder," Joffrey narrowed his eyes. "It just so happens that we were able to outbid Lord Stark. Nor am I blind, Lord Slynt. You're far from the first Gold Cloak to take a bribe, but few have enriched themselves to the extent you have. Now what am I to do with you?"

"Your Grace, I have served you loyally!" Slynt protested. "The traitor Stark tried to buy me, get the Gold Cloaks to overthrow you!"

"I'm well aware of that." Joffrey thumped his fingers on the table. "That is way you are only being removed from your position, not executed. Nor am I revoking your Lordship."

"This. . . this is an outrage. . . Your Grace!" Slynt bowed, looking to Cersei for support, but she would not oppose her son.

"I may not be able to make things better for you, but I can certainly make them worse. I've already found a suitable replacement." Slynt took the hint and left. "Remember: you're getting off easy."

_Since when did my nephew possess a brain? _Tyrion wondered. "Curious way to reward someone who assisted you." Varys and Pycelle watched him with nervous eyes.

"I took his previous service into account, but my father neglected his duties and now the realm is in ruins. Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys, if you would excuse us. I wish to speak with my Mother and Uncle alone." Not wanting to give Joffrey any excuses to harm them, they obeyed. Once they left, Joffrey rubbed his temples._ "_I doubt we'll be able to conceal Stark's death for long and I wouldn't put it past Baelish to have a backup plan in place."

"True, secrets are difficult to keep," Tyrion agreed. _Perhaps he won't be a hopeless case after all. _

"I'm aware you have little love for each other, but you will work together nonetheless." Joffrey raised a hand to forestall any accusations from the two siblings. "We all have many enemies. If we do not hang together, we will certainly hang separately."

"Where did this new wisdom of yours come from?" Tyrion wondered. _Has Joffrey been killed and replaced by a Faceless Man? _A capable player, calling for unity, and eyes that spoke of terrible experiences… he could barely believe him to be Joffrey Baratheon.

"When I had a crown placed on my head. Baelish made a big mistake expecting me to be a brutal but easily manipulated boy. Uncle Tyrion, I trust the men you brought into King's Landing can behave themselves."

"They won't be any trouble." Tyrion knew how unlikely that was. Having a few hundred sellswords and Hill Tribes would lead to at least a few fatalities.

"Make it clear to them that the penalties for breaking my laws will be severe. We are at war and I refuse to allow chaos and anarchy to break out inside King's Landing. Tywin can't help us right now. We are on our own."

The rest of the discussion revolved around attempting to keep Jaime safe. All three inside the room knew their relative would be killed if Ned's death was discovered. What plans they could come up with to free him were long term and had no guarantee of success.

_Has he gone mad?! _Tyrion wondered upon learning Joffrey ordered all midwives to wash their hands in water and wine while helping a woman give birth. He knew the Targaryens were prone to madness, so perhaps a bastard born of incest was vulnerable to the same thing.

Tyrion left the Small Council chambers with more questions than answers.

_I'm not going to be ready for a long time. _Matthew realized, Barristan pulling him up off the ground.

"You're improving each time, Your Grace," Barristan complimented. He still appeared confused, but was too polite to inquire.

"We'll resume tomorrow; can't stay away from my duties forever," Matthew decided. _Too much to hope for to keep Joffrey's reflexes, such as they were. _The most he'd done before now was dueling with sticks when he was a kid. Swordsmanship took years to learn and at most, he'd have only a few months before going into battle.

Matthew returned to the armory, allowing his squires to remove his armor. "Thank you very much." He gave them a nod of acknowledgement. He'd yet to learn their names but the two boys were quite competent at their duties. The boys were still wary of his wrath. No matter what, Matthew intended to be a different king than Joffrey. Westeros held little room for kindness, but so long as he was stuck here, he'd do whatever he could to improve things.

"Perhaps I should switch to a new weapon." Swords didn't do much against armor. Perhaps a mace or Warhammer. Optimally, Matthew hoped to stay out of the fighting entirely, but as King, that wasn't going to be possible. "I've got a Battle of the Blackwater to prepare for." How that would turn out now, Matthew had no idea. Littlefinger was the one responsible for bringing the Tyrells to King's Landing just as Stannis was near victory… and also conspired with Olenna to kill him.

_Can't keep relying on canon… and having Littlefinger removed as a threat will make things easier. _Matthew had yet to have him tortured in the three days since his arrest. According to reports from those who worked down there, he was going mad with fear, along with the total silence. "A little more pushing and he'll start talking."

He didn't trust the man not to lie just to make the pain stop. Matthew considered torture to be of limited effectiveness and only used when absolutely necessary.

By this point, Matthew had come close to memorizing where everything in the Red Keep was. Everyone who saw him gave a brief bow, either trying to suck up to him or fearing what would happen if they didn't. He kept Barristan close to his side, vastly preferring his company to that of Sandor Clegane.

"Hello, Tommen, Mycella." Matthew greeted, walking towards them. Tommen flinched, holding his cat protectively, while Mycella moved in front of her brother. _I haven't even spoken to them yet, _Matthew realized. He'd been too busy with his other duties to give much thought to the two people who were his younger siblings in this world.

"What can we do for you?" Myrcella tried to appear brave. Matthew had no trouble seeing her underlying fear, though.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," He responded politely. Perhaps they could at least form a cordial sibling relationship, if a close one wasn't possible.

"We're fine, Your Grace." Tommen whimpered, keeping his cut far away.

"I trust Sandor's been treating you well." Both nodded in response. Matthew looked up at him, the giant refusing to participate in the discussion. He suspected the scarred man was quite happy not having to serve the likes of Joffrey anymore.

"Why do you even care?" Myrcella dared to demand.

"I know I haven't treated either of you well but you're still my siblings." _This is going to be difficult. _"We've got a lot of enemies out there and as the oldest brother, it's my duty to look after you."

Both looked at him skeptically. "Thank you, Joff… Your Grace," Myrcella responded. Deciding there was little more he could do, Matthew decided to leave them alone.

"Ser Barristan, is my Uncle still in the Tower of the Hand?" Matthew inquired once they were by themselves.

"To the best of my knowledge, Your Grace," Barristan affirmed.

This time, Matthew did not need anyone to lead him there. "Wonder if he's brought Shae in there yet…" He mused to himself. She was certainly in King's Landing, assuming this world followed the books and show. Bronn and Timett waited outside the door, the former smart enough to keep his hand away from his weapon. Matthew wasn't too worried; he trusted Barristan was capable of victory should they try anything. "I'd like to speak to my Uncle; stand aside."

"Oh, I'd give it a little while." Bronn grinned. Noises could be heard from the other side of the door.

"Duties of the realm wait for no one," Matthew ignored him and opened the door, certain what he was going to find on the other side.

_Wouldn't be Westeros without a sex scene, would it? _Matthew crossed his arms, listening to Shae's fake moans, Tyrion too engrossed in the act to notice him. _Wonder how long it's going to take. _

Shae was the first to notice, gasping in horror when she saw Matthew. She turned Tyrion's head around, the dwarf scrambling to get his clothes back on. _He really is an ugly man. _He looked nothing like Peter Dinklage.

"What is the… what can I do for you, nephew?" Tyrion kept his tone polite, hiding his anger. He pointed to Shae and stammered. "She's just…"

"I know my grandfather forbade you to bring her here," Matthew cut off his words. Tyrion didn't need to know how he gained that knowledge. "And I don't care. We've got business to attend to."

"Couldn't you have waited a couple minutes?" Tyrion put on his clothing.

"What would the fun be in that?" Matthew shrugged, unable to keep a small smile from his face. He turned his head to Shae, who made no move to put her clothes back on. "Lady Shae, if you would please excuse us. I have something important I need to speak with my Uncle about."

She threw her robe back on, which left little to the imagination, and departed with a confused look on her face. "I'm always at your service, Joffrey."

"I trust you and my mother have been getting along."

"Is that what you're interrupting us for? Yes, of course, we're closer than ever!" A resounding lie but Matthew didn't need them scheming against each other.

"I have further orders for you which must remain private. Baelish is rotting in the dungeons, where I intend to have him spill his guts about what happened. However, I have a strong suspicion that our Master of Coin has something hidden planned."

"Ah, so you're unwilling to write the man off as a harmless trickster."

"Oh, he wants power, like everyone else, but I think he's got something grander in mind. My father spent like a drunken Democrat and it would have been easy to embezzle money. A fool could have robbed him blind and whatever else Baelish is, he's no fool."

"A drunken what?" Tyrion scratched his chin in confusion.

"Never mind, turn of phrase. My point is that I need someone to find out what he's been up to. Economics aren't my expertise and I need someone clever enough and honest enough to root it out."

"I'm flattered that you put such trust in me, Your Grace."

"I'm in need of a Master of Coin and there's no one I trust more to hold the position than you."

Tyrion scowled, knowing it meant a major demotion. "Nephew, I…"

"Yes, I know what your father assigned you to do. But I am King; he is not. I can take over some parts of the job, considering much of the Small Council have their heads up their asses. However, I'm finding myself making long term plans and I need to know how much Baelish has fucked us over."

"I would have thought three days of being put to the Question would have loosened anyone's tongue. Don't tell me you're getting soft."

"He'll talk but I want to make sure he isn't lying just to make the pain stop. Tyrion, I'm reassigning you as the unofficial Master of Coin. Officially, you'll still be the Hand of the King. You've got my authority to make any changes you need to. I expect some of Baelish's cronies are involved, and they'll squeal to save their own skins."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Joffrey, but we are in the middle of a war. Do you know what happens when a city falls?"

"Quite well," Matthew stared at him. He'd seen countless atrocities fighting overseas. Hell, he'd seen the aftermath of a nuclear weapon. "I'm already making plans, one of them increasing our food supply."

"I wouldn't expect the Starks to be merciful, not after Eddard's death. And by now, your uncles have spread lies all over Westeros."

"When I fight them, it's going to be on my terms, not theirs. And Littlefinger is much more devious than anyone gave him credit for. You've always been the smart one in the family." Matthew decided a bit of flattery was in order.

"Do tell my father that. I've been trying to persuade him my entire life." Beneath Tyrion's snark was anger and depression.

"I'll be sure and mention it. I trust you can do what I ask."

"Certainly, but I'd like you to do something for me as well. I'd appreciate it if you kept my…"

"Your whore?" Matthew interrupted. "I'll keep your secret. I know what kind of man my grandfather is."

"You're proving to be a competent player, Your Grace. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been replaced by a different person."

_You have no idea how true that is. _"I have every confidence you're up to the task. Just out of curiosity: have you ever heard of cannons or bombards?" If someone had already invented them, it would make his job much easier.

"I'm not familiar with the names."

_Damn! _"Are you at least familiar with explosive powder?"

"None of them are in Westeros, but… the Free Cities have built a few weapon they call black barrels. I believe they work by stuffing power inside, then a stone ball. Nearly as dangerous to their users as the enemy, so no sensible lord goes anywhere near them."

_Suppose I can't expect them to use the same names. _"We're going to bring a few experts in from Essos to design them for us." Matthew had already written out several ideas that he felt were workable with Middle Ages technology and the fact they already possessed the concept would make it much easier.

"Nephew, your wits are addled." Tyrion laughed.

"I happen to think they have much potential. I know I'm asking a lot of you: Master of Coin, Hand of the King, and an honest advisor."

"This won't stay secret for long. I'm sure Varys is already listening to us."

"Effort's got to be made." _Perhaps I should have had him removed too. _Matthew had cause to execute Baelish and fire Slynt. Although he was still King, removing so many of the Small Council would make too many enemies and like it or not, he needed Varys' spies.

Learning gunpowder and cannons existed made his job much easier. _And I've got a few other ideas as well. _Provided he lived long enough to make it happen, he might be able to turn Westeros into a better place.

Yeah, I wouldn't want to be Littlefinger right now. Matthew's learning fast but there are still many surprises in wait for him. He's got many ideas but unfortunately, not a lot of time to implement them.

If anyone's wondering why I decided to mention gunpowder existed on Planetos, it existed in the time of the Middle Ages. Many were slow to adapt the weapons, both because of how dangerous they were to yield, and that they allowed peasants to be able to kill noblemen. Matthew, of course, has no such hesitation.

To me, Tyrion would be the most likely to suspect that something was different about him. It's going to be hard to keep it secret, considering surviving the Game of Thrones requires people to be observant.


	4. Public Relations

"I hope this gets you through the day." Matthew smiled, handing a hungry woman a couple of freshly caught fish.

"Thank you, Your Grace." She nearly wept in gratitude, rushing away before anyone could steal it from her.

"All right, who's next?" Matthew called out to the crowd. He'd spent much of the morning handing out food, mostly fish, to the hungry of King's Landing.

Ser Barristan beside him as always, Matthew looked out at a crowd of thousands. The war had only begun and hunger was already beginning to set in. These kind of conditions going on for months… _Lot of people would end up dead. _

He wasn't naïve enough to think this was going to fix all their problems, but he would at least make the effort. Matthew assigned their defensive navy to fish out in Blackwater Bay and removed the restrictions against hunting in the Kingswood.

"I happen to be King, and thus, it's my right to do whatever I want with my property." Matthew had explained when the Small Council questioned his behavior.

The gold cloaks surrounding him agreed to provide protection in exchange for additional food. While better off than many, the majority of the Gold Cloaks were smallfolk and still going hungry.

"Plus, it helps with publicity." Matthew mouthed to himself. Few had forgotten the injustices they suffered at the hands of Tywin Lannister. Despite technically carrying the Baratheon name, he was tainted with the man's reputation.

"Here's an extra fish, just for you." His heart broke when he saw the struggles of orphaned children. Sadly, resources to help them were nonexistent, so all he could do was provide a small amount of food and hope those equally desperate wouldn't steal it from them.

The fish ran out before everyone in the crowd was fed. "I'll be out here again tomorrow." Matthew wondered if it was wise to telegraph his intentions but he wasn't going to generate goodwill by staying in the Red Keep and engaging in cruelty.

Many angry eyes stared at him but considerably fewer than there were before food was given out. Barristan kept him close, hand on his sword. Matthew never went anywhere unarmed, but unlike back on Earth, it was with a weapon for which he had minimal training.

_Can never get used to the stench. _Matthew wanted to design a sewer system for King's Landing but it couldn't be done in the middle of a war. That combined with his previous orders could cut the death rate by more than half. _I'll start designing it and maybe I can start getting it built when this is over. _

Nobles inside the Red Keep watched him with astonishment. Few of them would have ever deigned to do anything for the smallfolk, let alone risk their hides and feed them.

"Time for my other duties…" Matthew groaned. With an imminent siege, he didn't feel like wasting his time settling petty disputes. As that was part of his job, however, he was given few options in that matter.

He took the time to glance over at Sansa, who spent most of her time in the Godswood. Matthew ordered a discreet eye to be kept on her, not trusting Littlefinger to find an indirect way of contact. _He's not getting anywhere near her!_

"My son, are you all right?" Cersei rushed up to him. "I heard you were out there, among our inferiors."

"I had Barristan there to protect me and decided to spend some of my time giving out food to the hungry." Matthew explained. "We win over the smallfolk, our job's going to be a lot easier. We've got enough enemies as things stand."

"There's no need to waste your time or risk your life for them." Cersei insisted. "You're surrounded by enemies and they'll see this as weakness. Worse, there are assassins out there. The Starks want our blood thanks to Baelish."

"I don't expect to win everyone over but sooner or later, we're likely to be attacked. My grandfather's already lost a major battle and my Uncle is captured. Renly has a massive army and we don't have the forces to stop him. If the smallfolk are starving, they'll side with anyone who can feed them."

"Fear is preferable to love, my son. Fear is what will keep them in line when things get difficult."

"Fear's all well and good but I intend to avoid being hated. Otherwise, they could just damn the consequences and rise up anyway." _Funny how no one ever remembers the other half of that quote. _

"I'm not letting you risk your life out there, Joffrey." Cersei feared for his safety. "We cannot take unnecessary risks."

"Mother, I know you're trying to look out for me, but I am the King now. I can't be seen hiding behind your skirts. After all, you're the one who told me fear is the way to go. Will they fear a king who hides from his people?"

Cersei paused, thinking it over. "I'll do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe."

"If you're insistent on keeping me safe, see what you can do to get Baelish to talk. I'm certain he has more plans we haven't learned. Provided I can keep Tyrion from drinking his days away, I'm certain he can find them."

"That disgusting little wretch!" Cersei would have been attractive had her hatred not been so transparent. "You cannot trust your uncle, son. He's a deviant little…"

"Mom, we're all on the same side." Matthew reminded. "Are the Starks or Renly going to care that we have problems getting along? I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Cersei looked like she was going to argue but thought better of it. Grateful for the reprieve, Matthew marched into the Throne Room where countless people were waiting for their disputes to be heard.

He did his best not to allow his boredom to be visible. Many of them were what he expected: complaints about higher food prices, increased taxes, disputes with neighbor. Matthew noted most of the anger was directed at other peasants, not the noblemen above them.

In the end, he gave promises he wasn't sure he could live up to, had a few wife-beaters flogged, and made sure Renly received the blame for their current situation. Matthew made sure decision carefully, balancing the need for change versus not appearing weak.

Few failed to notice the change in his demeanor. Seeing a mature, capable king rather than a petty one forced his competitors to reconsider their approach. "Bet they'd never believe the truth even if I told them…" Matthew allowed himself a private laugh. There was little joy to be found for him in Westeros.

Whenever he wasn't interacting with the smallfolk or making plans to deal with his enemies, Matthew preferred to be left alone in his room. Barristan stood outside as always, looking upon him with newfound respect.

"I hope those people arrive soon." He'd sent a raven to specialists in Braavos, hoping they'd bring over examples of cannon and gunpowder. "They've probably just gotten the raven. Got to remember I can't expect modern communication speed."

Matthew unlocked his dresser drawer, looking over the various plans for improved weapons and quality of life. The latter would take years, assuming they were accepted at all.

_If I remember correctly, I've got a few months before the Blackwater battle. _It would hopefully give him some time to learn how to use a medieval weapon. _Maybe a Warhammer, copy who my father is officially supposed to be. _

He'd negated at least a few acts of stupidity by the other characters, but sadly, Stark was still dead. Littlefinger would soon wish he was, but however much the bastard deserved it, Matthew couldn't bring himself to watch.

A sudden idea came to him. Matthew hastily wrote two letters to people he hoped to court as allies. It was a long shot, considering their character, but the effort had to be made. With Littlefinger wishing he was dead, he couldn't count on the Tyrells to bail him out.

He was so engrossed in his plans, he neglected to instruct Barristan to follow him. However, the man was dutiful as ever and needed no encouragement to do so.

Numerous maids and other servants watched him, most of which Matthew considered to be spies. _Hence why I'm not letting anyone else send these. _Baelish wasn't the only enemy within the Red Keep. Varys was equally dangerous and currently untouchable.

Matthew chose the fastest ravens he could, those already inside the room hastily moving out of his way. Much as he hated to admit it, a part of him was growing to enjoy the power he possessed. He could brutalize and slaughter on a whim if he chose to. _Never; I will not let this position turn me into a monster!_

He sent two copies of each letter to their destination, wanting to ensure the message was received. Attempts at interception were likely to be numerous.

"Your Grace… what are you sending that cannot be done by servants?" Barristan spoke curiously.

"Hoping to win over some unlikely allies. If it fails, we're no worse off than we are now." Matthew shrugged, not wanting to divulge his plans to anyone. Barristan was honorable but the walls had ears.

"I… you've changed a lot in a short period of time, and for the better." Barristan complimented. Matthew knew the man enough to realize he rarely gave his opinion unless called upon to do so.

"Well, except for my skill with a sword."

"That can be remedied with time, Your Grace." Barristan smiled. Underneath that smile, however, was a belief there was more he wasn't being told.

"Not everyone can possess your skill. It's a shame what the Kingsguard's become. I like Sandor well enough but he's not suited for the white cloak." _And he's staying away from Sansa, thank God. _

"You are most kind, Your Grace."

That night, sleep eluded him. Matthew did not dare wander from his chambers, not with such a large target on his back. _Not real comfortable to sleep in but better than being dead. _He threw the mail shirt over his normal clothing.

He couldn't stop thinking about the circumstances that transported him to Westeros. "What the hell happened to me? Did we end up switching bodies or was my consciousness somehow transferred to Joffrey's brain?"

He devoutly hoped it was the latter. Thinking of Joffrey in his body, causing havoc… putting his girlfriend and sister in danger. _They'd notice something was different. _Matthew knew he couldn't protect them, not where he was, so he begged whoever was listening that hadn't happened.

"Not that I'm likely to see them again anyway…" Being away from home depressed him. Danger Matthew could deal with but the thought of never seeing his loved ones again threatened to crush him.

Unable to shut his brain off, Matthew resumed writing notes and plans. It was all he had.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Well, my nephew's suspicions were accurate." Tyrion admitted, hiding his surprise. "Littlefinger's definitely done something with our finances."

"Did you really expect there not to be?" Bronn chuckled. "If I was Master of Coin under Robert, I'd have robbed him blind and fled for Essos before he was any wiser."

"He hasn't robbed him, not exactly." Tyrion responded. There was plenty of embezzlement. The books didn't add up, with hundreds of thousands of gold dragons not being accounted for.

Surrounded by papers, he hid his resentment over being demoted from the position he'd expected to have. Rather than being second only to the King, he was little more than a glorified clerk.

True, it was still his official position, but the economics of the realm were complicated enough to force Tyrion to spend much of his time on the latter duty. "I haven't found it just yet, but Littlefinger's done something."

"So has he started talking yet?" Bronn placed his feet on the table, curious about Littlefinger. "I've never known a man who didn't break sooner or later."

"Not yet, no." Tyrion found a lot of strange investments on top of the embezzlement. He had a massive paper trail to go back through, but it was clear Baelish was a financial genius.

_And even his cronies don't know that much. _Those who had no control and simply stole at will were the first caught. Tyrion admitted to taking a certain satisfaction seeing them plead for mercy, occasionally with literal bags of gold in their pockets.

The more subtle ones were harder to catch. His nephew had fortunately granted him all the authority he needed to make changes. Even so, it was a time consuming process.

"Shouldn't we be worrying about this once the war is over?" Bronn remarked, occasionally looking through the papers himself. There was little else to do in a dark room with only a couple candles for light. "Your nephew's priorities seem to be rather skewed."

"Skewed or not, he has the right of it." Tyrion admitted. "Not that it'll matter if we lose this war. If we're dead, all of this will end up being someone else's problem."

"Speaking of which, what's happened to your nephew. Based on what you told me, I was expecting him to be a cunt. But here he is, actually ruling."

"Truth be told, I have no idea." Dealing with finances was difficult but manageable. Tyrion took a large drink of wine, pondering the sellsword's question. "He's not hiding behind Cersei and he's shown more intelligence than I've ever seen from him."

Of all the mysteries he'd encountered when arriving at King's Landing, his nephew's newfound behavior was the most perplexing. He saw a very different man, one haunted by horrific experiences and someone who felt he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

People changed over time, but never so quickly and so completely as Joffrey Baratheon. _Joffrey Lannister. _Tyrion scoffed. Jaime and Cersei's activities had never been a secret from him.

It couldn't be Joffrey, yet it was. Tyrion's first instinct was to ask if a Faceless Man had replaced him, but that seemed even more implausible. While there were no shortage of people who wanted him dead, there was no reason to take his place.

The one thing he hated more than mysteries were the ones he couldn't solve. Joffrey continued with his usual japes, but Tyrion observed they lacked the true derision he'd become accustomed to. He even looked at him with respect.

He could almost convince himself Joffrey had merely grown up… save for his nonexistent swordsmanship. He could never compare to Jaime but Tyrion knew the boy was at least a passible swordsman. Not anymore. _But what could have happened?_

"Halfman, ever consider you're looking in the wrong spot?" Bronn suggested. Tyrion hated the name, but from Bronn and Shagga, he could tolerate it.

"What are you talking about?" Tyrion was shaken from his thoughts.

"I know thieves well enough to realize the good ones don't hide what they've taken where everyone can find it. It's not going to be in King's Landing."

"So where…" There could only be one place: The Fingers. Baelish had been seen as harmless, interested in money and power like everyone else in the Capital.

"I expect you'll find quite a bit of money there. If you like, I can…"

"That won't be necessary." Tyrion crushed the idea immediately, believing that Bronn was more likely to run off with whatever was found rather than return, guards or not. "We're in the middle of a war so we can't go traipsing around and hoping we get lucky."

Despite his frustration, the more Tyrion looked, the closer he came to figuring out just what Littlefinger had done. He'd never admit it to anyone but he was slightly touched his nephew trusted him enough to investigate. Certainly he'd received little enough gratitude from his family.

_I'll figure it out in the end. I always do. _That included discovering whoever ended up replacing his nephew.

XXXXXXXXXX

Baelish felt like going mad.

_How long has it been? _He couldn't even begin to guess. When he was taken away, he had been stripped naked and thrown in the cell, with nothing but his fears to occupy him with.

He knew those who entered the Torture Cells never came out. Left in the darkness, the fear of what was about to happen to him overloaded his mind. Baelish had sent numerous people into the cells, generally whores who attempted to disobey his orders.

Surprisingly, he had been given food and water, although none of the guards ever spoke to him. Whenever he heard footsteps, Baelish braced himself for the pain to begin, only for him to be left in peace.

_How could this possibly have happened? _He'd known Joffrey as petty and cruel, but very susceptible to flattery. It was a simple matter to convince him to execute Stark and start the war, giving him the impression the man was too dangerous to leave alone.

Only he'd disobeyed, throwing his plans for a loop. And managed to obtain enough evidence to have him taken away. Baelish noticed the difference in Joffrey but hadn't thought much of it until it was too late.

"I'll find a way out of here." The only sound he heard was that of his own voice. Baelish recognized the isolation was an attempt to break him and swore they wouldn't succeed.

_My plans are still in motion. Stark is dead, Joffrey will soon find himself suffering the same fate, Cersei will destroy the realm, and I'll still be standing. _And Catelyn would be waiting for him. He'd waited nearly two decades to have the woman he loved. He could wait a while longer.

The sound of footsteps made his heart stop. "It's just another game." He told himself. Joffrey was just tormenting him. This time would be no different.

Baelish's eyes were blinded by the torchlight, forcing him to cover his eyes with his arm. When he adjusted enough to see who was standing in front of him, he trembled.

"Lord Baelish, how are you enjoying your accommodations?" Cersei smiled, three large men surrounding her.

"My Queen, I swear to you, this is all a misunderstanding." Baelish made another attempt. Joffrey might have imprisoned him but Cersei might just be persuaded. "I've always been loyal to you. I was the one who persuaded the Gold Cloaks to support you."

"If I didn't need you to talk, I'd have your tongue ripped out." Cersei was unmoved by his profession of loyalty. She turned to the guards and said: "Let him have one last look at his cell. I want him to appreciate the journey."

Baelish tried to run but there was nowhere to flee to. Despite being relatively well-fed, the guards easily overpowered him, dragging him through the dark halls.

Outside the cell, he could hear the screams of others. Baelish closed his eyes, telling himself he could still talk his way out of this. His smooth tongue had removed him from many dangerous situations.

"My Queen, this isn't necessary." Baelish tried again, trying to keep himself from begging.

"Are you calling my son a liar?" Cersei warned, making no move to have the guards let him go.

"Not a liar… merely deceived by Varys. You cannot trust eunuchs. Every word that comes out of their mouth is a lie. I've served loyally for years…"

Baelish gasped, seeing the room he was dragged into. Dried bloodstains were still visible on the walls, along with numerous torture instruments.

"I'd tell you to start talking, but then, we're already discovering your plans." Cersei mused, hands behind your back. "You underestimated my son and you underestimated me. Even my brother, vile little dwarf that he is, sees through you."

"My Queen, if it wasn't for me, your plans after Robert's death would have failed." Baelish made no further move to conceal his desperation. He was tied to the wooden platform, his limbs stretched to the breaking point.

"My son wanted to try a different approach, break you without putting you to the question." Cersei spoke, grabbing a torch. "But what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

She placed the torch against his feet, inflicting more pain than Baelish had ever experienced in his life. Even the wounds he took in his duel with Brandon paled compared to this.

After what felt like a lifetime but was only a few seconds, Cersei removed the torch. "There's only one punishment suitable for traitors, Baelish. I never trusted you but I never dreamed you'd work to have me and my children butchered."

"Please, My Queen…" But Baelish realized Cersei wasn't falling for it anymore.

"You killed Stark, convincing his son to make war on his behalf. You stole from the treasury, and you planned on having our King murdered." She placed the torch on his feet again.

Even through the pain, Baelish was coherent enough to realize they hadn't yet found out everything. Men would say anything that would make the pain stop, something he could use to his advantage.

_They don't know about Lysa. _If he was killed, she'd wage war on his behalf. The woman was disgusting, taking advantage of his broken state to sleep with him, but her obsession was useful. _I'll have my revenge on you, dead or not. _

"My son's ordered you to be kept alive." Cersei continued, now pressing the flame to his torso instead. "And he is the King." Then her face transitioned into the most evil smile Baelish had ever encountered. "You won't die…. No matter how much you beg for it."

XXXXXXXXXX


	5. Alliance

"No…" Catelyn Stark uttered a whisper at the sight before her. A coffin carrying the Stark insignia laid in a horse carriage, nearly spotless.

_Who is it? _Catelyn wanted to collapse into her grief but forced herself to remain stoic. Howls of rage could be heard across the procession. A handful of men drew their blades, among them Rickard Karstark.

"My Lady, King Joffrey gives his condolences of the passing of your husband." Cleos Frey spoke hesitantly, aware of all the hateful eyes upon him. "While held in the Tower Cells, Baelish treacherously slew him in the night and…"

"Lies!" Catelyn could hold herself back no longer. The idea her oldest friend could commit such a despicable act of murder…

"Give the word and we'll gut them all!" The Greatjon announced, lifting his sword into the air. Stark and Tully bannerman formed a half circle around the Lannister procession.

"No." Catelyn raised a hand to hold them back despite every instinct in her screaming for revenge. "They have arrived under a peace banner and I will not go so low as to imitate Cersei Lannister."

"My Lady… the King wanted me to assure you that Lord Baelish will receive severe punishment for his treason." Cleos stammered.

"Spare me his lies; I have no desire to hear them." Catelyn interrupted him, moving towards the coffin. She was surprised to find it in such condition, meticulously maintained even during the long journey.

Her hand brushed against it, Catelyn struggling to hold back tears. Throughout the war, she prayed for her husband and daughters, only to see the man she loved dead.

"The King made sure to have his body taken care of, as befitting a man of his honor." Cleos promised.

"What do you know of honor, you Weasel-eyed Frey?" Karstark bellowed. The few Freys alongside him gave the grieving father dirty looks. "You butchered our liege lord, just as you killed my sons!"

"Thank you… for that at least." Catelyn could at least take comfort in the fact his body was not mistreated. "And my daughters?"

"Safe and unharmed. His Grace is willing to return them in exchange for the freedom of Jaime Lannister."

Catelyn almost said yes. More than anything, she wanted to see her children again. She cared nothing for glory in battle, only for her family returned to her. _But Robb's bannermen will not accept the Kingslayer being traded for two girls. _

Robb alone had yet to speak. Hand on his sword, the seventeen-year-old did nothing but stare coldly at the Lannisters. Catelyn shivered slightly despite the glare not being aimed at her. Her son was more furious than she ever imagined he could be.

"King Joffrey has ordered me to give terms." Cleos continued. "He is willing to pardon you for your treason and return Sansa Stark if you agree to pledge fealty to him. His only conditions are that taxes to the crown will be increased for a period of seven years."

"No." Robb responded. "The only terms I will accept is Joffrey's head on a pike. Run back to the Lannisters. Tell them that I intend to paint the realm red with their blood."

Catelyn arranged for Ned's bones to be transported to Winterfell, buried alongside his ancestors. _I can break down later. _She needed to stay stoic with so many eyes upon her.

Cleos and those who guarded him were reluctantly given food and shelter, although they would be forced to depart in the morning. With Eddard's death, there was no longer any chance for peace.

Five of Robb's best men surrounded her for protection. No major battles had been fought since the Battle of the Camps but skirmishes and raids were constant. The Riverlands had yet to be liberated from Tywin's forces, who were busy burning every farm and village they could locate.

"Ought to march right down to King's Landing, burn their city to the ground!" Greatjon suggested.

"I hope you haven't forgotten that Lord Tywin still resides at Harrenhal." Roose Bolton reminded.

"First, we need to clear the Riverlands of these raiders." Edmure Tully announced. "Already too many will die when winter comes. The longer they are allowed to roam free, the more damage will be suffered."

Arguing was constant and little was accomplished. Some wanted to take the fight right to King's Landing; others argued for a retributive strike into the Westerlands. A few suggested attacking Tywin at Harrenhal, although it was quickly shot down as a disastrous suggestion.

Catelyn could not keep her eyes off Robb, only partially listening to the discussion. His eyes were cold, staring into the abyss.

"Having our liege lord in captivity is something you cannot let go unanswered." Bolton advised. "We should send Cersei a few body parts of her brother, reminding her that actions have consequences."

Robb looked like he was considering the idea. "Whatever you do to Ser Jaime, Joffrey will have done to your sisters!" Catelyn noticed, however, that Cleos only mentioned Sansa, not Arya.

"He has already murdered your father." Bolton reminded. "Fail to respond in kind and the Lannisters will consider you weak."

"I will… keep the offer under consideration, Lord Bolton." Robb clutched the table hard enough that Catelyn could hear a crack in the wood. "If I choose to do so, it will be done by my own hand."

Catelyn waited for the discussion to be concluded, intending to persuade her son otherwise. _Although the Kingslayer would deserve nothing more. _Every time she walked by Jaime, her hatred for him only intensified. Attempting to murder Bran, burning the Riverlands, killing her husband… she feared she would have the mutilation done herself.

Despite the victories they achieved, however, the Northerners were still outnumbered. Out of the 30,000 bannerman, perhaps 22,000 were fit to fight, the remainder incapacitated by wounds and disease. More were tied down guarding Lannister prisoners.

When the sun set, discussion tapered off, Robb retiring to his tent. Catelyn looked around, reassured to see the sentries surrounding them. A large host provided security but it was impossible to conceal, leading to the danger of a hired killer reaching her son.

She pushed the folds of his tent aside, his guards making no move to stop her. "Robb…" Catelyn spoke softly, knowing he was falling apart inside.

"All the Lannisters will die for this!" Robb swore, pacing around to the extent the tent allowed him to do so. "I will personally make sure of that! Jaime, Joffrey, Tommen, Mycella… they're all going to suffer."

"Robb!" Catelyn rebuked, though there was a part of her that felt the same way.

Robb showed no sign of hearing her. "Perhaps I'll even give them to Lord Bolton, have all the Lannisters flayed alive! Joffrey… I'll enjoy seeing him beg for mercy! I'll…"

"Robb!" Catelyn approached him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "What would your father think of you if he heard you speaking this way?"

"He's dead so it doesn't matter. Cersei's children will grow up to be no different than her."

"Enough!" Catelyn knew the gentle approach wasn't working. "Listen to yourself, Robb! You're threatening to have innocent children flayed alive!"

"Why not? They're Lannisters and…" Robb was visibly straining to push his anger away, his eyes looking at the ground. When he spoke next, it was in a calmer voice. "I'm sorry, Mother. I… I don't know what came over me."

"I miss him no less than you." Were Cersei Lannister in her grip. Catelyn would take great pleasure in squeezing the life out of her. "But we can fight them without falling to their level. Eddard resigned as Hand rather than agree to assassinate the Targaryen girl. He wouldn't want to see his oldest son commit such cruelty."

"I know. I just… I thought we could free him." Robb appeared defeated. "What we do now, I don't know yet."

_We return to Winterfell, rebuild and prepare for the coming winter. _However much she wanted vengeance, Catelyn knew she had to think of others besides herself. A crusade of revenge could lead to the rest of her family being killed, especially with the likes of Tywin Lannister.

But she kept quiet, knowing their bannermen would never respect Robb again if he chose to end the war. "We still need to get Sansa and Arya out of the Capital. From what I saw of Joffrey, there's no doubt in my mind he will brutalize them both."

"All the more reason to at least give terms. If they think you're only interested in revenge, the Lannisters will have nothing to lose. I want them to pay no less than you, but forcing them into a position where they have no choice but to fight will be a disaster."

"I will speak to him shortly." Robb conceded. "With Father dead, what are we fighting for now?"

"To have Sansa and Arya returned to us." Catelyn offered the instant those words left his mouth.

"They're not likely to ever let them go. Even if we offered the Kingslayer, I wouldn't put it past them to trick us and have them ambushed on route to Winterfell. And I don't want the Iron Throne. Spending my life inside a pit of vipers…"

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll let you know when I have an answer. I was considering sending Theon to treat with his father, forming an alliance with the Greyjoys. We offer gold and plunder in the Westerlands, perhaps some land to settle."

"Do not send Theon!" Catelyn pleaded, seeing no way for that to end well. "He is a Greyjoy, or have you forgotten?"

"That's precisely the reason I'm sending him." Robb appeared confounded at her vehement refusal. "Balon Greyjoy will be willing to listen to an offer coming from his only son."

"Theon is a hostage, not a member of our family."

"He is my brother, no less than Jon is." Robb rebuked. Catelyn's lip curled at the mention of Ned's bastard. "And I love him as one. He would not betray us, not after so much time at Winterfell."

"Robb, please listen to me." Catelyn gripped his hand. "Theon still sees himself as a hostage and it is the only thing holding Balon back from attacking us again. If you insist on treating with him, send someone else. Send me, send Edmure, Stevron Frey… anyone but Theon. He might care about you, but a day in the Iron Islands and he will remember who he really is."

Robb thought it over for a couple minutes before answering. "All right, I'll send someone else. But I still intend to treat with the man. He'll see the opportunity an alliance with us will provide."

Catelyn wasn't so sure of that but she at least convinced him not to have Theon rely the message. She had a grim look on her face for the rest of her waking hours thinking of Jon. While Eddard made it clear he wouldn't tolerate her mistreating him, she could never bring herself to accept him.

_At least he is at the Wall and no threat to my trueborn children. _

Catelyn retired to her tent and allowed herself to cry. Even alone, she kept her tears silent. She sobbed herself out for as long as the tears would flow

"Could it be true?" Catelyn hated the thought but still asked the question. She'd known Baelish since they were children, but she hadn't seen him for eighteen years. Men could change a great deal in that time.

And Petyr possessed an unrequited crush on her; that much she knew. Catelyn always pretended she didn't, not wanting to destroy their friendship by her rejection. Even if she had been interested, though, her father would never have allowed it. He was nothing but a minor lord, barely above a peasant.

He hated Brandon after the duel, and by extension, Eddard. "But he can't have held a grudge that long. Not over me." Petyr had always been jealous when he attempted to woo her and when he learned she was going to be married to Brandon, it had been too much for him.

Catelyn did not wish to believe a dear friend was capable of such treachery. Joffrey was lying… or so she wanted to believe. But the voice whispering in her head that it could be true refused to remain silent. Had she thought to check Ned's corpse instead of merely sending him to Winterfell, she would have seen the truth.

She slept very little that night.

At first light, Cleos was forcibly woken up and given new instructions. "These are the terms you will give Cersei Lannister. She will immediately hand over my sisters. The crown will pay for all the damage they have inflicted on the Riverlands. There will be no betrothal. Once they are released, I will return Willem Lannister and Tion Frey to wherever she chooses.

"Make it very clear: any harm she or anyone inflicts on my sister will be repaid ten-fold on the Kingslayer."

"Perhaps we should send her one of his hands." Theon laughed, a smirk on his face as always. "Or his cock; that she might recognize more easily." Roars of laughter came from all the bannermen, though Catelyn curled her lips in disapproval.

"If any of the men you hold are executed, we will return the favor." Robb continued as though he hadn't spoken. "We hold over three times as many Lannisters so I recommend Tywin not forget that. Agree to my terms and we will stand down. Fail to do so and your entire family will suffer the consequences."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I wasn't expecting to see representative of the Iron Bank to arrive as well." Matthew admitted, shaking the hand of Tycho Nestoris. However, his eyes were on the dozens of technicians setting up the equipment.

"For a deal such as this, the Iron Bank wishes to make sure its interests are protected." Tycho smiled politely. Only a handful of torches could be seen, all placed far away from the gunpowder. "Moreover, the crown still owes us a substantial amount of money. I wish to make sure you'll be able to fulfill your obligations."

_If you can't pay us back, we'll support your enemies. _Were the real words. "Sadly, I am aware that my father nearly spent the realm into oblivion. Difficult to solve in the middle of the war but we're well on our way towards rectifying the problem. I've already managed to root out significant portions of corruption."

"We are patient and know that repayment can be difficult under such conditions, Your Grace." Tycho responded. "But I am sure you understand my superior's concerns."

"Yes, I'd feel the same way in your position." Matthew told him politely. "We can negotiate after I have a chance to see these weapons."

At first glance, the cannon _Right, they're called Black Barrels here _didn't looked very impressive. It was little more than a long iron tube made with iron hoops.

"Tell me, what guarantee do I have that this thing is going to do anything besides blow up and kill the operators?" He demanded, remembering how dangerous early cannons were to use.

"Your Grace, it is a risk, but over the last thirty years, we have steadily improved the design." Lead operator Gian Verci promised. "And they have proven themselves in combat against the Dothraki. Their horses cannot stand the noise and break formation."

"All well and good but they don't look suitable for the field."

"They are not, Your Grace." Gian admitted. He was a short man in his early 40s, his eyes barely coming up to Matthew's shoulder. "They cannot be easily used and are slow to load. However, they are highly useful when it comes to sieges. One iron ball can kill a dozen men."

"How many of these did you bring?" Despite how primitive they were, with enough cannons, Matthew knew it would give him a decisive advantage.

"Four, Your Grace. We were all the Sealord was willing to spare."

_Not what I hoped for. _Matthew thought. It was at least a beginning and cannons were weapons Westeros wasn't familiar with. At least as far as he knew.

"Has anyone else in Westeros been interested in these weapons?"

"Not until now, Your Grace." Tycho interjected. "Your father considered them to be coward's weapons, as did your grandfather. And we would never have assisted the Mad King's effort to stay in power."

"I'm curious as to whether you invented these weapons or if they came from elsewhere."

"They came from unknown civilizations behind the Shadow Lands." Tycho admitted. "It is said beyond the Bone Mountains, there exists a civilization with a hundred dragons and many cities far greater in size than King's Landing. Whether these rumors are true, I cannot say."

"And those metal tubes over there?" Matthew recognized them as hand cannons.

"Hand barrels, Your Grace." Gian informed, setting one up on a stand. "One hundred of them. Unlike bows, these weapons are capable of penetrating armor."

Matthew opened his mouth to ask for a demonstration but Gian's assistants were already moving. A chestplate was placed against the stone wall, two other men moving forward to load their weapons. Powder was loaded, both holding wicks in their spare hands.

Absently, he hoped neither were foolish enough to let the dim flame anywhere near the gunpower. He hated such dangerous conditions but this was something he felt essential to keep secret.

Despite bracing himself for it, he jumped at the noise. Only one of the iron balls hit the armor, but it nevertheless succeeded in penetrating it.

"I see their accuracy leaves something to be desired." Matthew sighed, although it was nothing he didn't already know about guns of the period.

"Yes, their accuracy and range are inferior to bows." Gian admitted, appearing nervous. "But they have superior penetration. Not only that, they do not require the years of training necessary to learn archery."

"Do they meet to your satisfaction, Your Grace?" Tycho inquired.

"We'll need to make some improvements but yes." _Wonder if Westeros has armor that can withstand them. Perhaps, although without gunpowder, they've never had a need to adapt to bullets. _

"It just so happens I have ideas for improvements." Matthew played the first card in his hand. "Your can… black barrels have great potential."

If Tycho noticed the slip, he gave no sign of it. "That is a bold claim, Your Grace. We are confident you can pay for the barrels, the gunpowder, and our specialists, but to say you alone can improve the designs…"

"First, I intend to re-enter negotiations with you. This might sound like insanity to you, but I assure you, I'm quite sincere." Matthew moved to the brown box where he kept all his papers. "I was thinking a more permanent arrangement between the Iron Throne and Braavos."

"Your Grace, I am only authorized to negotiate payment for this deal alone…"

"You may change your mind when you see these. Gian, I'm going to need your input as well. Being a torch once you're sure it won't touch any of the gunpower." Matthew didn't fancy seeing half the Red Keep blown to bits.

Gian obeyed, he and Tycho standing a few feet behind him. Matthew muttered, searching through his papers to see if he could find the right ones.

"What do you think of this?" Matthew revealed the design of an advanced cannon, at least relative to what this world possessed. Contrary to the iron tubes, it had wheels, handles, and made of bronze rather than iron hoops.

He'd done his best to approximate the designs from his world but wasn't sure how good his best was. _It isn't like I can go on Wikipedia to check if I'm missing any details. _

"A… most interesting design, Your Grace." Gian confessed. "However, I am not sure if bronze is strong enough to withstand the forces necessary."

"Could you duplicate something like this?" Tempting as it was to make the design himself, Matthew didn't have the time in between his other duties. Not only that, he wasn't sure if he'd designed it properly. "It's smaller, but something like this would be more mobile, with certain versions suitable for field battle."

"I cannot help but ask: how did you come up with this concept?" Tycho inquired.

"Call it the will of the Gods, a magical vision, or just a young King with boundless curiosity." Matthew shrugged. _I wonder how long it's going to be before the world learns the truth. _"And answer my question."

"I… believe it should be possible, Your Grace." Gian bowed his head.

"You're quite the inventor, Your Grace." Tycho nodded in respect. "Perhaps in return for this design, provided it works the way you claim it will, we can re-negotiate the interest rate on the crown's debt."

"I was thinking forgiving the debt in exchange for a more strategic alliance." Matthew offered a counterpoint.

Tycho coughed slightly, surprised he would make such a bold offer. "Your Grace, we are willing to negotiate terms in exchange for assistance, but considering the sums your late father borrowed from us…"

"Oh, this isn't the only thing I'm offering." Matthew smiled. "I wouldn't be much of a negotiator if I showed all my cards at once. I know these talks will go on for some time, but I assure you, it will be in your interest as much as mine."

Gain left the conversation, him and the other workers looking over Matthew's designs. While he couldn't understand the language, he surmised that the specialists considered the design feasible.

"I am listening." Tycho still looked incredulous but surprisingly, willing to hear him out.

"You might only be authorized to negotiate this sale alone but I'm confident both the Sealord and the Iron Bank will be interested in my offer. I ask for two things in exchange for this design: food shipments and the lower interest rate you offered me previously."

"Even for this design, you're asking quite a lot." Tycho pointed out. The two of them left the armory and took the stairs to the Small Council chamber, which was currently empty.

They continued haggling over the details, but Matthew slowly wore the man down. Tycho's interest in the weapon was plain to see, but both still wanted the best deal possible.

After sweetening the pot by offering to lower tariffs on Braavosi exports, Tycho agreed to Matthew's terms. "You are one of our more stubborn negotiators." He chuckled, pouring himself a drink of wine.

"Just an effort to show my sincerity." Matthew replied. "Once this deal is complete, you'll be the strongest civilization in Essos."

"Your Grace, assuming of course you can fulfill that promise, I can't help but ask about your motivations." Tycho rubbed his beard. "Few are willing to offer such a boost to an ally, let alone a kingdom many consider a rival."

"For one thing, you've got more immediate concerns. Eight of them, in fact, and I expect Volantis in particular is working on barrels of their own. They've got enormous potential for warfare." _Far more than any of you can dream. _

Tycho didn't miss the implied threat. "We are already the strongest empire in Essos, Your Grace. The Dothraki rarely raid us and those who do pay for their arrogance."

"I suppose that has nothing to do with the fact there are multiple empires in between you and the Dothraki Sea." Matthew wasn't impressed by his boasts. "But you're still not strong enough to achieve your goal. Work with me, agree to my terms, and you will be."

"If I heard this from anyone else, I would consider them to be mad. After seeing your design, however… almost as if you're a man from the future."

Matthew laughed, hoping it wouldn't be seen as forced. "I have numerous other gifts, which will be revealed at the proper time. And both of have a common desire: the eradication of slavery. A scourge of man that must be destroyed." As a former black man, it was personal for him as well as recognizing the key selling point for Braavos.

"Our empire is devoted to that, but…"

"The Seven Kingdoms all oppose slavery, even the likes of the Ironborn." Matthew reminded. "If on little else, we are in agreement here."

"All due respect, Your Grace, many Lords treat their smallfolk little better than slaves. There is little difference in practice, only the name."

"I am aware of this." Matthew sighed. Unlike real-life Europe, there were few distinctions between the smallfolk. Based on his reading, most were better described as serfs than peasants. "King or not, I cannot change everything. All I can do is get things moving. Tell me, does Pentos continue to abide by the treaty?"

"So long as we watch them carefully. Turn our eyes away from a moment, and slavery will be openly practiced again."

"Consider what you could do with my design, along with everything else I have in mind. We will benefit greatly working together."

For the first time, Tycho's face showed genuine emotion. "If you are capable of living up to your words…"

"I don't expect you to take it on faith. All I ask is for a chance to prove my sincerity." The two men shook hands, Matthew considering this his greatest opportunity yet.

XXXXXXXXXX

Robb's going to be a little more ruthless than he was in canon. If he seemed a little out of character, he's just gotten the news about his father's death. He's still too honorable to carry that threat out. He hasn't (yet) sent Theon to Pyke, which bodes well for him. Somewhat less so for Matthew.

Tempting as it is, he knows he can't construct such devices alone. That the Free Cities have knowledge of gunpowder and knowledge of cannons will make his designs easier to build. That being said, it requires time, which he doesn't have much of.

I hope to have chapter 6 done in around a week.


	6. Rampage

"As if I don't have better things to do." Tyrion marched off, confused as to why his nephew was so insistent he be the one to feed the smallfolk. It wasn't as if it made a difference anyway with nearly half a million hungry people in the city.

_I've already done more with ordering the Gold Cloaks to go hunt and to request more food from nearby farmers. This is pointless! _Joffrey was the King, however, and he knew he couldn't openly disobey him.

"You know, Imp, I think these people might actually be growing to like you." Bronn remarked, pointing to the crowd.

"Nice change of pace." Tyrion sighed but he found the sellsword's words to be true. There were still plenty of glares and muttering but also some genuine appreciation for his efforts. _About bloody time. _

He would rather have spent his time preparing for the eventual siege. Not an easy thing to do with Cersei obstructing him at every turn. Despite their promise of cooperation, they had yet to live up to it.

Without Bronn at his side, Tyrion knew the mob would tear him apart. Either for money to buy food or sheer rage over their situation. He wouldn't go so far as to trust the mercenary, but he at least understood he had more to gain allying with the Lannisters.

"Aren't you neglecting your Master of Coin duties?" Bronn remarked.

"We've got bigger problems at the moment." Tyrion reminded. "Plus, Baelish is no longer in any position to threaten us." Nor was he entirely sure the man was still alive. His sister had chosen to personally oversee the interrogation and as Littlefinger was a threat to her children, Tyrion considered what he would face to be a fate worse than death.

"Your nephew's setting you up for something." Bronn pointed out. "First, he has you perform both your Hand of the King and Master of Coin duties. Then he has you feed all the poor bastards out there, listening to all their sob stories. Lot less of a cunt than you told me he was."

"Perhaps he's hoping I get torn limb from limb by an angry mob." Tyrion snarked but his voice lacked conviction. Joffrey was much more serious than before… and treated him with kindness. True, he still made plenty of japes, but the King supported and appreciated his efforts.

"My Lord, you have twenty supplicants waiting to meet with you." His squire Podrick Payne ran to greet him. A boy of fifteen, he'd offered to stand alongside Bronn and protect him from the crowd. However, sending such an inexperienced boy into such danger was beneath Tyrion and he refused.

"If one of them's Lady Tanda, I'm not interested." Tyrion declared. He knew she was desperate to find a match for her lackwit daughter Lollys. He mentally shuddered at the very thought of marrying such a woman. "Admittedly, if not for the austerity we're under, I might go anyway just to eat a good meal. But give her my regrets. Who else?"

Most of the others were of little importance. However, there was a name that caught Tyrion's attention. "A member of the Night's Watch said he urgently needs to speak to you, My Lord. Ser Alliser Thorne."

"Allister Thorne?" Tyrion scoffed. He would much rather have encountered Yoren. Out of everyone on the Wall, he hated Thorne the most.

"He has a hand kept in a jar and…"

"Have him spend a few days in the black cells." Tyrion knew it was petty but no longer would he be forced to endure the man's arrogance and side comments. "Perhaps it will humble him a bit."

"Man like that will never be humbled." Bronn snorted with laughter.

"And… the people are still going hungry. Many blame Renly Baratheon but there are still those who hold you responsible."

"Me?" Tyrion fumed at the injustice. "I've been doing everything I can to feed them. If they should blame anyone, blame the King! He was the one foolish enough to leave Lord Stark with so little protection!" That he too underestimated Baelish was something Tyrion chose to overlook.

"I'm just relying the message, My Lord." Podrick looked away.

"Thank you for telling me." Tyrion decided to let him down easy. "Be sure to tell them we're doing everything we can. The King has promised new shipments of food will arrive shortly."

However tempted he was to see Shae in the Tower of the Hand, he knew he had to meet with his sister first. If it ended with bloodshed, Tyrion would begin believing in miracles again.

_Speaking of my dear sister… _He spotted her marching into the Red Keep with a large procession, barely-concealed fear beneath her angry expression. "My Lords, I wish to speak with my sister in private."

Cersei hissed, looking ready to strike him. Her guards' faces turned towards her, ready to carry out her orders. "This better be important, Imp." She spat, reluctantly agreeing to his request.

"Excellent; I see you're taking our vow of cooperation seriously." Tyrion mocked. "Where were you? I hope you're not taking any unnecessary risks, sister."

"I was inspecting the scorpions and ballistas on the walls." Cersei responded. "Some of us have better things to do than sleep with whores and studying worthless papers. Renly Baratheon has just begun his march up from Highgarden with all his strength behind him."

"It'll take him some time to get here." Tyrion feared Renly much less than Stannis. He was charismatic but had no experience as a military commander nor was he as clever as he believed. "I've heard the same reports from Varys and he's traveling at a rather leisurely pace."

"His host is said to be eighty thousand strong." Cersei could no longer conceal her worry.

"So many even now?" Tyrion thought that an exaggeration. He'd already had confirmed reports of numerous Storm Lords refusing to support him due to his rumored homosexuality.

"I need you to order our father to bring his army to King's Landing. He outnumbers our forces ten to one and if he gets here…"

"Our father is a little busy being humiliated by Robb Stark to march his army anywhere." Tyrion reminded. All it would accomplish was making Cersei feel more secure, so he was confident Tywin would ignore the order. "It's almost as if you doubt your son's skills."

"He is a boy of seventeen and… he's never experienced real battle."

"All the more reason we need to cooperate with each other, Cersei." Tyrion decided to extend a grudging olive branch. "We may not like each other, but after all, our King ordered us to work together. You've been holding out on me as much as you can get away with."

"It's the King's prerogative to withhold information from those who serve him." Cersei smirked.

"The only one holding back is you. How long do you think we have before King's Landing comes under attack? You might take satisfaction in withholding information, but you're the one who's going to be harmed because of it. Now I know you're preparing something and I'd like to know what."

He knew it was something big but not precisely what. Even Lancel had yet to learn and the boy was pathetically eager to tell Tyrion everything in exchange for keeping his secret.

Cersei turned away, her face scrunched up. Eventually, however, she chose to tell him. "Wildfire. We've got thousands of wildfire pots ready for whoever dares stand against us."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Tyrion mocked. "I hope you see the true value of cooperation now. I'll be sure and factor them into my plans, both for the defense of the city and for returning your beloved brother to you."

"Someone needs to keep things together and you're too busy scheming and whoring to do it." Cersei's glare returned. "And Joffrey… he does seem rather confident these new designs of his will work."

"And you've got nothing but the interests of the people in mind…" Tyrion quipped. "I wouldn't write him off quite so quickly. If you continue to work with me, I have every confidence we'll get through. After all, A Lannister always pays his debts."

Tyrion turned around to leave when Cersei stopped. "Oh, Imp… if anything happens to any of my children thanks to these 'plans' of yours, I'll place you in the cell right next to Baelish."

"I hope not; such a waste of my talents." Tyrion fired a parting shot, knowing her threat wasn't an idle one.

_The mystery only deepens. _Tyrion's spies informed him that in the bowels of the Red Keep, advanced weapons were being constructed. Black barrels had made little difference in the wars between the Free Cities but Joffrey was confident they would be a true game changer.

"It's almost like he knows something we don't." Tyrion mused. A possible alliance with Braavos, new and as of yet untested designs, strange turns of phrase…

He was becoming increasingly convinced this wasn't Joffrey Baratheon _Lannister, actually _at all. A Faceless Man would be the obvious guess but it didn't account for all the knowledge he possessed. Instructing the Braavosi on how to increase the strength of the explosive powder and speaking of a theory nearly all Maesters considered utter nonsense.

Strangest of all was his regard for the smallfolk. Tyrion was willing to win them over for pragmatic reasons but Joffrey seemed to truly care for their welfare.

"You know, I think my nephew's earned himself a reward." Tyrion rubbed his chin.

"I have just the thing in mind." Bronn chuckled. "Trying to win him over another way, are you?"

"Consider it my reward for his efforts and for the fact unlike most of my family, he recognizes my true value." Tyrion slapped Bronn on the back. "Time to make him a real man. I'm certain he'll appreciate such a gift." Best of all, it would keep Joffrey distracted for a while, allowing him some time to put all the pieces together.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Perhaps now they'll take me a little more seriously. _Matthew considered, watching the four convicted men die on the gallows. One was lucky enough to die instantly, with the other three slowly choking to death.

He looked at the two men to the left, where blood stains were still visible. Upon learning they'd raped and murdered a young girl, Matthew decided to castrate them. "Amazing just how easy this is…" It went against the legal system he took for granted, but he found brutal punishment to be much more satisfying.

Nearly 1,000 people gathered to watch the executions, eyes glued on the condemned man. All but one had lost unconsciousness by this point, their faces turning blue and purple from lack of oxygen.

The mercenaries had chosen not to listen to his warning about breaking the laws and now they were paying the price for it. Matthew didn't worry about the others losing their loyalty, as the remaining sellswords now received a slightly larger paycheck.

"Throw their bodies into the bay; they don't deserve a funeral." Matthew ordered. The gold cloaks surrounding him hastened to obey.

He refused to give them the chance to be sent to the Night's Watch, which all of them pleaded for. Matthew looked upon the bodies with a furious gaze, refusing to allow such men to weasel out of their punishment.

_Perhaps I should have let them. _Matthew was finding it all too easy to throw aside his 21st century values and embrace the brutality common in Westeros. They were the first people he executed since his arrival, but likely not the last.

"I just have to be careful not to get carried away." Power could corrupt him as easily as it could anyone else. Matthew wanted to change things for the better, perhaps accelerate the technological and social change required to build a modern society. _So did many revolutionaries before they were seduced by power. _He vowed that would not happen to him.

He kept Tyrion and Barristan around for that very reason. Few in the Red Keep were interested in giving honest counsel, only what they felt would benefit them. The constant stream of sycophants threatened to drive him mad.

Based on the glances of the smallfolk, he was winning at least some of them over. Matthew wasn't naïve enough to seek universal popularity but having at least some of the common people on his side would keep King's Landing stable.

With the spectacle over, Matthew met up with Ser Jacelyn Bywater at the gates of the Red Keep. "How are your gold cloaks doing keeping order?" He inquired. Bywater was another man he trusted to give him honest reports.

"We've at least kept things somewhat stable, but the hunger's only getting worse." Jacelyn responded. "People are hungry, people are hungry, and they're looking for someone to blame. Seeing you out there feeding them has helped to a degree, but I'm not sure it helped in the long run."

"We're already doing everything we can to keep them fed." Matthew rubbed his temples. "Half the lords and ladies in the Red Keep are giving me death glares when they think I don't notice because of the austerity I ordered."

"You asked for honesty and I'm providing it." Jacelyn informed. He was one of the few Gold Cloaks that wasn't corrupt. Matthew intended to have him promoted at the next Small Council meetings. "There are a few mutterings of treason, but you've managed to convince the majority of them your Uncle Renly is to blame."

"Precisely where it belongs. I know a lot of the men we've recruited are barely worth the time and money it takes to train them. What do they think of me?"

"Many support you, some don't. When your enemies get there, for the time being, I don't see any major problems."

"So you do think we're going to be facing a siege?"

"Your grandfather is at Harrenhal and Renly continues his march North. If not for his leisurely pace, your uncle would already have arrived. Stannis is not a threat as things stand, not with only a few thousand men." Unlike many, Bywater spoke to Matthew with no fear.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you. Tell me, is there anything I'm overlooking when it comes to keeping the city fed? I have our Navy spend most of their time fishing, the Gold Cloaks are out there hunting. I'm having food brought in from the Free Cities. If there's anything else, please tell me." With such an unfamiliar world, Matthew knew there could be something he was missing.

"No, Your Grace." Bywater responded after a few moments of thought. "I will keep you appraised of the situation."

"Thank you." Matthew retreated into the Red Keep. At times, he considered wearing a cloak and disguising himself to hear the rumors. Even those who gave honest council he knew not to trust completely.

But it was too massive a risk. There were spies all over the city and his skill with weapons was still poor. Alone, he'd be all but begging for an assassination attempt.

He ignored the glares many gave him behind his back. Matthew couldn't bring himself to be sympathetic. They might not have been allowed to feast the way they were accustomed to, but unlike most of King's Landing, were not going hungry.

Barristan marched to him the moment Matthew arrived inside, as did the rest of the Kingsguard. He'd yet to find anyone to replace Arys Oakheart, the posting being low on his list of priorities.

_They are at least doing their job. _However low his opinion of most of them were, the rest of the Kingsguard at least took their duty of protecting him seriously. _And I'm probably going to need the protection the way things are going. King's Landing makes what I faced in Chico look trivial. _

As was typical for him, Matthew retired to his chambers, only to hear voices from the other side of the door. His hand went towards his mace, having decided that it would be a superior weapon to a sword.

"Open the door cautiously but don't start swinging until we know what we're walking into." Matthew instructed, Barristan and Mandon Moore standing in front of him.

Moore opened the door cautiously, his sword drawn. Matthew peaked over Barristan's shoulder as much as he dared, questioning if this would be the first fight for his life since arriving in Westeros.

It wasn't. Instead, Matthew witnessed a pair of scantily-clad ladies on his bed. Upon seeing him, they rushed over and smiled, encouraging him to join them.

Save for Barristan, the Kingsguard sheathed their swords. Matthew lowered his mace but did not put it away. Not every assassin would be an obvious one.

He moved inside his quarters, feeling himself stiffen up. Matthew had done everything he could to be faithful to his girlfriend despite the distance between them.

"Enjoy yourself, Your Grace." Meryn Trant laughed, giving a lecherous look. Barristan flashed a brief look of disapproval but said nothing.

_Right, Robert was notorious for this. _Still not entirely lowering his guard, Matthew inquired: "What are you ladies doing in my bedchambers?" Even if not assassins, they could still be spies.

"Your Uncle sent us as a gift, Your Grace." One of them giggled, removing her already see-through clothing. Matthew attempted to look away but couldn't stop himself from glancing at them.

"He wanted to thank you for all your hard work." The other spoke, Matthew judging her to be the younger of the two. She was a gorgeous young woman, blonde hair flowing down her back. Her brown eyes stared at him while her counterpart all but pushed him to his bed.

"I appreciate the kind offer but…" Matthew felt his resistance weakening. The girl gave his crotch a brief squeeze.

"I always enjoy being with handsome men like you, Your Grace." She sat beside him. Her hair was jet black, a few freckles on each of her cheeks. Matthew watched her carefully, looking around her few remaining scraps of clothing for a dagger.

"So… what are your names, since we're getting to know each other." Matthew asked as a stalling tactic.

"My name's Serenity and she's Tiffany." She giggled, moving to remove his robes. On the other side of the room, Tiffany threw aside the last of her clothing, sitting to Matthew's left side.

_I shouldn't be doing this; what would Emily think of me? _Matthew questioned, not that it stopped him from looking. He did not remove his clothing but provided no resistance when his robe was removed, revealing his bare chest.

Serenity was the one who took charge, Tiffany proving herself to be rather timid. "I still can't believe my Uncle sent you here." Matthew chuckled. "Well, ok, maybe I can with his reputation."

"Have you ever been with a woman before?" Serenity teased. "I imagine you've had hundreds."

"Not exactly." Matthew wanted to move away but his body refused to cooperate with him. _I'm probably going to be stuck here until the day I die. _He attempted to justify to himself.

"He thought I was perfect for you, being a woman with fifteen name days."

"Wait, what?" Matthew screamed, his desire disappearing in an instant. _Fifteen?! What kind of… right, right Westeros, better known as a shithole. _

"You don't need to worry about any lack of experience." Serenity attempted to reassure. "I've been pleasing men… and the occasional woman… for more than two years."

Matthew's face only darkened further. Keeping his face and voice calm, he responded: "You can thank Tyrion for his… kind gesture, but I think I'm going to have to decline."

Serenity pouted in response. "I was hoping to find out what it would be like fucking a King. I bet you're the biggest I've ever seen."

For the first time since his arrival, Matthew found himself speechless. He pulled away from her, still being careful not to cause any injuries. He coughed, rubbing his temples. When he was able to find his voice, he uttered: "That's really not necessary, Serenity. The offer is appreciated, but… I know it's hard to explain but you're a bit young for me."

While Serenity attempted to change his mind, Matthew looked at Tiffany's naked figure. She moved no more than she had to and as she was still, he had time to examine her. Several faint pink lines marked her back.

"Tiffany, what are those marks?" Matthew questioned although he was certain he already knew.

"A mere accident, Your Grace." Tiffany stammered, unable to meet his eyes.

"I know whip marks when I see them." Matthew didn't believe her. Putting his robes back on, he questioned: "What happened to you?"

"You are the King, Your Grace. I cannot expect you to care about trivial matters." Despite her attempt to be cheerful, Tiffany's lip quivered.

"It just so happens I care quite a bit. Frankly, I expect you would rather be anywhere in the world than here." Matthew moved closer, examining the wounds. They looked relatively fresh and the mark of a whip was unmistakable.

"No, no, I promise, Your Grace." Tiffany pleaded with him. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

_This fucking place… _"How did you get those marks? You don't need to stay silent on my account."

"You're going to get us both in trouble!" Serenity interjected.

"No, I want to hear what she has to say." Matthew was full of quiet fury. He needed to hear the truth from her before he could act.

It took nearly a minute for Tiffany to speak. His look of concern convinced her his question was genuine. "I… I was forced to work there a few moons ago. A man offered me a job and I said yes. I didn't realize he meant…. And they told me if I ever tried to flee, they'd murder me and my brothers. I thought that I could at least make enough money to support them. Father does nothing but drink and…"

The more she spoke, the angrier Matthew became. He turned to Serenity and asked: "Did the same happen to you?"

"Had to find some way to support myself when my parents were murdered. Can't leave, but I don't behave like her. Some of my clients are decent and even fun."

"Well, you're not going to have to work for them anymore. Where is this brothel and who is in charge?"

"It used to be Lord Baelish, but after you arrested him, it's been Ulric Waters." Serenity answered.

Matthew put on his mail shirt and grabbed his mace, opening the door. He addressed the Kingsguard: "Follow me. There are a few brains that need to be bashed in."

Marching down the Red Keep, everyone inside knew to keep out of his way. Matthew could see nothing but red, promising brutal vengeance to the men responsible. He clutched his mace tight, barely stopping himself from swinging it around in incoherent fury.

Lots of curious onlookers watched but no one dared to intervene. With Tiffany's assistance, he found the brothel in question.

Matthew saw several girls and women just in his vicinity, the moans coming from the other rooms sounding faker than the porn videos he used to watch. "Your Grace, have you come to…"

"No, get all the clients out of here." Matthew scowled, eyes full of hatred. "Now!" He terrified the young woman, who shouted the King's orders.

Half clothed men muttered curses under their breath. One looked ready to object until he saw Matthew's expression. He considered splitting their skulls open but decided to reserve his justice for those most deserving.

"This is an honor, Your Grace." Ulric Waters greeted, a skinny man in his 30s. Everything about him screamed sleazeball: his lips, his eager expression, his lustful glances at the girls who served him. "If you wish to have all my girls at once, you have but to say the word. Your Lord Father came here many…"

"I've been hearing a few interesting stories." Matthew spoke, reluctantly granting him a chance to explain himself. "About you kidnapping young girls and forcing them to work for you."

"Where… where did you get such a ridiculous notion, Your Grace?" Ulric stammered, black eyes not meeting his.

"Are you calling your King a liar?" Matthew's voice lowered.

"Of course not, Your Grace! I am merely saying that… the stories are incorrect." He looked even more frightened at the sight of Serenity and Tiffany, sweating profusely.

A cry of pain was heard in the other room. "Then do you have a very, very good explanation as to why I'm hearing a girl cry in the back?" Matthew raised his mace, Barristan looking at the man with equal disgust. However, the other Kingsguard showed little but indifference.

"I'm going to find out for myself." Matthew hissed. He ignored Ulric's desperate denials.

He forced the door open, walking in on the sight of a young naked girl being whipped. Her tormentor turned to Matthew, but had no time to say anything before he attacked.

Matthew split his skull open with the first blow, blood dripping on the mace. Not satisfied with that alone, he hit the man again and again, bellowing with rage. He never had a chance, dying after the first few blows.

Even then, Matthew did not stop brutalizing his corpse. By the time he was finished, he was little more than a puddle of blood and tissue.

He took out the dagger and cut the young girl down, knowing someone would have to see to her injuries. "You're safe now; he can't hurt you anymore." Matthew reassured.

"Thank… thank you, Your Grace." She sobbed in gratitude. The girl didn't look a day over fourteen. "I refused to service a client and he…"

"That much I can see for myself." Matthew lowered his body, looking her in the eye. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Jenye Poole, Your Grace." She shook, still trying to cover herself.

_That name sounds familiar. _Matthew searched his brain for knowledge of the books. "You're Sansa's friend, aren't you?" When she nodded, he added: "She'll be overjoyed to see you again. Don't worry, these people are going to pay for this."

The rest of those who worked for the man were rounded up by the Kingsguard. Without a word, Matthew smashed the mace into Ulric's head almost casually, killing him.

"So do you have any very good reasons why I shouldn't kill you all on the spot?" Matthew evaluated the eight terrified men.

"Spare him." Tiffany pointed to the man on the right. "He was always kind to us." Matthew gestured for Trant to drag him away from the others.

"Your Grace, please… send me to the Night's Watch." One of the men pleaded, realizing there was no getting out of their situation. "All I do, I only did because of his orders."

_Not interested in the Nuremburg defense. _"I've got a better idea: why don't we let the ladies here decide? They're the ones who suffered at your hands."

He discovered half of the girls inside the brothel had been forced to work, with the remainder doing so voluntarily (relatively speaking) to support themselves. After a brief argument among themselves, five were chosen to die, with a sixth to be sent to the Night's Watch. The remaining two, all the women asked to be spared.

"For the crime of slavery, I, Joffrey Baratheon, First of my Name, and King of the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you all to die." Matthew swung his mace at all of them, wanting the predators to die at his hands.

The first three went down begging for mercy. Two realized they had nothing to lose and attempted to flee, only to be cut down by the members of the Kingsguard.

Matthew couldn't stop himself from laughing. He'd killed many people in the war, but this was the first time he'd ever killed outside combat. And it felt… far better than he'd expected. He gave a small smile of satisfaction seeing justice done.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, either Matthew will be known as a protector of the common folk or as a dangerous lunatic no better than the canon Joffrey. Westeros being what it is, it could go either way. Tyrion definitely managed to distract him; just not quite in the way he intended.

I'm hoping I got the interaction between Tyrion and Cersei correct. They'll never care for each other but since they've been ordered to work together, the siblings can at least grudgingly cooperate.

Next chapter will center around the response to Matthew's actions and perhaps another unexpected ally.


	7. Revenge

Although this is just a fanfiction story, I still want to keep the feeling of GRRMs work. This means Matthew can't just show up, kill a few people, and everything will be smooth sailing from there. Every one of his acts has unforeseen consequences.

And corruption is a massive danger. Matthew has a strong desire to do good, but he has what amounts to absolute power, and history is full of such individuals who succumb to such authority.

Matthew's still an amateur when it comes to the Game of Thrones. He's King and possesses canon knowledge, which has allowed him to push through so far. However, he's surrounded by players more experienced than him, so it remains to be seen whether he'll be up to the task. Ideas for advanced technology may not be enough to ensure Matthew's survival.

At any rate, enjoy the chapter.

XXXXXXXXXX

Cersei opened the door slowly, savoring the moment. "So Lord Baelish, how do you like your new accommodations?"

He was too weak to do anything but turn towards her. Baelish's right eye was missing, as was his right hand. Stripped naked, his body was covered in burn marks, cuts, and sores. His remaining eye widened, weakly struggling against his restraints.

"What, no witty remarks?" Cersei mocked, moving closer to him. She waved the torch near Baelish, making him flinch.

"My…" was all Baelish would utter. He'd pleaded that he was innocent, but looking through his financials proved that was a lie. To Cersei, though, Joffrey's accusation was all she needed to condemn him.

"The only reason you're still alive is that the King ordered you to be kept that way." Cersei continued, taking her time. "Well, I wouldn't call it living."

Her fingers brushed against the restraints, blood dimly visible in the torchlight. In the end, Baelish told her everything she wanted to know. "But I'm not about to allow my son to get a reputation for weakness. I won't let his enemies prey on his mercy."

He turned his body the best he was able, only a handful of teeth still in his mouth. Cersei crossed her arms, waiting for him to attempt pleading his innocence after he confessed. "Please… I've told you everything."

"Maybe you have, maybe you haven't. Either way, you won't be in any position to harm my family." The man accompanying her cautiously handed her a jar. Cersei grabbed it, being sure to keep the torch far away.

"I've always been curious to see what wildfire does to human flesh." Cersei grinned. Baelish fought against his restraints with all his remaining strength, pleading with her for mercy. "Let's find out."

She tossed the jar onto Baelish, ducking as far away as she could while still witnessing the spectacle. Green light immediately lit up the cell, his screams only dimly heard through the crackle of flame.

Cersei's eyes lit up at the sight. The flames consumed Baelish as well as the table he was strapped to. Her guard put out the torch, both to avoid any danger and because it was no longer necessary.

It didn't take long for Baelish to die, his flesh melting off his body. Still the fire burned, embers coming close to igniting Cersei's clothing. She backed further away, the wooden table collapsing onto the stone.

She marveled at the raw power of wildfire. Little wonder the Mad King was so obsessed with it. The flame only gradually subsided, badly scorching the stone walls.

_Perhaps one day I'll be able to do the same to Tyrion. _Cersei wasn't about to let the little monster harm her children. They might trust him for now, although Joffrey's change of heart was a recent one, but she wasn't about to fall for it. _The Valonqar. _

She swore she would never allow it to happen.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sansa looked over at her friend on the other side of the room, uncertain of what to do. What she anticipated to be a joyous reunion was nothing more than a tragedy.

Jeyne never spoke unless she was spoken to and even then, said no more then necessary. When Joffrey brought them back together, she screamed in panic when Sansa tried to hug her.

"When I found her, she was being whipped in a brothel," Joffrey told her when she first asked. "She's gone through a lot on unpleasant experiences so be gentle with her."

He was only seventeen, but his words and expressions spoke of a much older soul. Sansa never asked him about it, though she was sure something happened. What caused such a transform, she could barely guess at.

"Jeyne?" Sansa tried again. The girl might only have been the daughter of a minor lord, but she was still her friend.

"What is it?" Jeyne looked over, still unwilling to speak.

"It's good to see you again; I missed you." All her lessons about courtesy failed her. What her friend went through, Sansa could only guess at.

"Thank you." Jeyne got to her feet for the first time, staring out the castle window. "Do you know how long we're going to be here?"

"Probably until the war's over." Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to leave. Their families were at war, but Joffrey was proving himself to be the heroic king she heard about in the stories. He rescued Jeyne, looked after her, and supported even the lowest in King's Landing.

"I want to go home. I want to go back to Winterfell." Jeyne kept her eyes out the window, only slightly acknowledging Sansa. If not for her condition, Sansa would have demanded she treat a Lady of Winterfell with more respect.

Deciding not to push Jeyne any further, Sansa turned away. _Maybe I can still marry him, have it bring our families together. _She wasn't ready to give up on the stories just yet. Sansa had learned many in King's Landing were liars and manipulators, but there had to be some honest people in the city.

"Once the war's over, I'm sure you'll be allowed to return home." Sansa attempted to encourage. She wasn't sure what to do. Jeyne was so unlike the talkative, carefree girl she'd grown up with.

Sansa heard a quiet knock on the door, telling whoever was outside to come in. The door opened slowly, revealing her new maid. She hadn't bothered to learn the girl's name; all she knew was that the girl was at the brothel where it was said Joffrey went mad.

_I can't believe he'd allow such a woman near me. _Whores were the lowest of women, the sort all respectable lords and ladies stayed far away from. Based on some of the conversations she'd overheard, though, she didn't believe it was as uncommon as her mother always claimed.

The girl cleaned their room without a word, picking up and heading off to dump the chamber pot. Paying her no further attention, Sansa decided to try a different tactic: "Do you remember our favorite story? Ser Peter the Dragonslayer…"

"Don't ever mention those stories again!" Jeyne burst out. "Nothing but lies!" Sansa would ordinarily have rebuked her for such disrespect but couldn't bring herself to do so in Jeyne's state. "True knights don't exist; I saw that much for myself!"

"Of course they exist; one of them rescued you," Sansa reassured. "The people who… did this to you…"

"Raped me, you mean?" Jeyne snapped, making Sansa gasp. "Rape" wasn't a word you were supposed to say around a proper lady, let alone hear it from one. "You can't even handle hearing the word. While you were living comfortably in your room, I was taken by Baelish to be 'trained.'"

"By the Gods…" Sansa felt her eyes watering. She'd always had an uncomfortable feeling about the man but learning that he would do such a monstrous thing…

"Once Father was killed, I had no one to protect me. I was taken from my bed in the middle of the night and…" Jeyne couldn't go on any longer.

Sansa kept her expression sympathetic, righteous anger swirling within her mind. No one in Winterfell would have dared treat even a whore that way, lest they face her father's wrath. "I'm sorry, Jeyne. I promise that won't happen again."

"You can't promise anything like that." Jeyne looked at her skeptically. "I'm sorry to say this, but you deserve to know the truth, Sansa. All the stories we loved hearing, tales of knights rescuing, and saving ladies… none of them are true. I was forced to… be with enough knights to know that much."

"Then they weren't true knights." None of her father's men would ever have done the same. The Lannisters were another matter.

"I wish I could believe that, but I'm just a young, defiled girl that no one in the city cares about. What's going to stop someone from doing it again… or doing it to you?"

Sansa stood up in protest, a fierce denial ready to escape her lips. Only… Jeyne was a highborn girl, and it didn't stop Baelish from turning her into a whore.

"We've come to a dangerous place." She hadn't forgotten her father's warning. Sansa hadn't taken it seriously then, being too enthralled with the Capital of Westeros. Witnessing what Jeyne had endured, and she was positive her friend only spoke of a few things, warned her that no one was safe.

Nor was there any sign of Arya. However aggravating she found her little sister and her refusal to behave like a lady, Sansa missed her. Joffrey swore to locate her, but she'd heard nothing.

Perhaps she was even dead. "No, I won't believe it." Sansa shook her head. Not unless she was forced to see her sister's body. After everything Joffrey had done for her, she didn't believe he would lie to her about something like that.

Lords and ladies spoke freely around her, seeing her as little more than a hostage. That her betrothal to Joffrey was at an end became common knowledge at court. _Few here can keep things secret for long. _

She wasn't in Winterfell here. In King's Landing, almost no one could be trusted. Like it or not, she would have to play the game.

But she didn't know where to begin. Sansa was used to being supported because she was a Stark, not because she was a superior player. _Perhaps it's time to start. If nobody sees me as a threat, they won't pay attention to me. _

Ideally, she hoped to convince Joffrey that they belonged together after all. Sansa still dreamed of having a handsome prince by her side, someone who provided prosperity to the realm. They could be the King, and Queen Westeros deserved.

She'd have to be patient, but Sansa refused to give up.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Your changed behavior provides a mystery to us all, Your Grace," Varys remarked during their Council meeting.

"I can't very well play around and be a royal brat when my father was killed… by a boar, of all things." Matthew gave his rehearsed response. "You know better than I how he spent us into such debt."

"I am most impressed by what you've done so far, Your Grace." Varys flattered him. "And during wartime conditions as well."

"Thank you, Lord Varys." Matthew wasn't sure whether the spymaster was being sincere or sucking up. _I'd love to be able to replace him. _He knew what Varys' real plans were, but however tempting it was to execute him, he had no proof. Worse, he hadn't had the time to build up a spy network of his own, and many of the "little birds" were loyal to Varys alone.

"I'm pleased to report that our wildfire production is going swimmingly," Tyrion announced. "We should be able to reach ten thousand jars by the time Lord Renly reaches us."

"You believe he's going to be the one to arrive first?" Matthew questioned, remembering it was ultimately Stannis they fought at the Blackwater.

"Harrenhal and our father stand between Robb Stark and the Capital," Tyrion explained. "He cannot besiege Harrenhal, nor can he afford to bypass it and have my father assault him in the rear. No, we're safe from him, at least for now."

"What are we going to do about Stannis?" Cersei warned. "If he blockades us from the sea while Renly hits us from land…"

"Then we're likely screwed," Matthew informed. "Lord Varys, how many ships does Renly alone possess? Give me the most accurate number you can."

"Although most of the Reach has joined him, the Redwyne Fleet has not." Varys tutted. "Without their naval strength, my latest information tells me he has between sixty and eighty warships along the coast."

"All right, so we're not too badly outnumbered in that aspect, providing Stannis doesn't join him." Matthew rubbed his chin in thought. With the Braavosi ships, the numbers would be just about even. "How much time do we have?"

"At his current speed, close to a moon," Varys responded. "The food being shipped from the Free Cities should provide some relief at least."

_Damn, I was hoping for more time. _None of the cannons had been completed yet, although a couple were close. Not enough would be built to have any significant effect on the outcome, meaning he was forced to face his enemies with comparable technology.

"Then we're going to need allies. We're barely holding off starvation as it is and that will get worse once we're under siege."

"The Iron Islands, perhaps?" Pycelle suggested.

"With Stark still holding his remaining son hostage, Balon's not going to do anything. He sneers at the idea of alliances anyway. Remember that he chose to attack my grandfather and the riverlands at the same time. No, I don't see him being interested." Matthew intended to send an offer anyway: an alliance with the Lannisters in exchange for the western shore of the Riverlands. Perhaps Asha at least would be interested.

"I had an alternate idea. Tell me, who is the oldest enemy of the Reach?"

"You mean to form common cause with Dorne?" Varys inquired. Just a brief glimpse of excitement was visible underneath the surface. "If I may be so bold, Your Grace, the Martells hold little love for your family. Either of them."

A subtle jab about Joffrey's true parentage. Letting it slide, Matthew added: "That grudge goes back a generation, but their war with the Reach has lasted for centuries. I think they'll be interested, providing we offer them enough to mend old grudges." _I know Doran Martell wanted to side with Viserys, but he's dead. More than anything, I need to keep him from joining with Daenerys when she finally arrives. _

"Most clever of you, nephew." Tyrion complimented. "In fact, I have a few ideas. We all know the tragic fate of Elia, raped, and murdered during the Sack of King's Landing. Not an easy grudge to overcome… but I'm sure Doran would love an opportunity to take revenge on certain people."

"The very thing I had in mind." Matthew concurred. "Tywin can always find another beast to replace him. We send a letter to Sunspear, offer Doran the heads of Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. He can do to them whatever he pleases."

"Doran Martell is a weak Prince of Dorne, Your Grace," Pycelle spoke.

"I must concur with the Grand Maester," Varys added. "He has not left Sunspear is nearly a decade. I cannot see him marching his troops north for the sake of families he considers the enemy."

_He's anything but weak. _"I am aware that the heads of two men may not be enough to smooth things over. So let's give him an offer he won't be able to refuse, at least not out of hand. His grandchildren as heirs to the Iron Throne."

"Do you mean…" Varys questioned.

"A marriage between Arianne Martell and myself." Matthew interrupted. As it was doubtful he would ever return home, he knew he had to think of his new future. Arianne Martell would have been of legal age on Earth, unlike Sansa and many others. "A reconciliation between our families. With the power of Dorne behind us, we can face our remaining enemies on superior terms."

"You know, it's said Arianne is quite enthusiastic between the sheets," Tyrion remarked. "And marriage isn't something Doran will be able to dismiss easily."

"A pleasant bonus at a minimum," Matthew smirked at Tyrion. Cersei and Pycelle looked appalled, Dornish norms involving sexuality being looser than on the rest of the continent. "He won't accept right away, I'm sure, but he understands the value of self-interest." _And hopefully cause him to delay his plans. _

"So you're counting on him having grandchildren on the Iron Throne to override his certain desire for revenge." Tyrion summarized. "That will be quite the conundrum for him. Regardless, nephew, he's not going to act soon enough to save this city."

"I don't need him to. What I need is to ensure he won't become one of our enemies. Oberyn in particular, being as hotheaded as he is."

They discussed it for a while longer. Varys attempted to talk him out of it while trying to appear he was not doing so. Barristan spoke up for the first time in approval of the idea. Tyrion continued making quips about Dornish girls while going over the positives and negatives.

But Matthew's mind was made up. "Grand Maester, do you have any information for me regarding the number of childbirth fatalities?"

"There has not been enough time to study the number of children, Your Grace." Pycelle stroked his beard. "However, I have seen far fewer women die, ladies and smallfolk, since your decree. As our food supply is so limited, I cannot say for certain."

"Huh, it's almost as if I knew what I was talking about." Matthew mocked the old man. "I trust everyone involved in the process is following my instructions."

"Everyone in the Red Keep, yes, Your Grace. I do not know if… all midwives among the smallfolk are doing so."

"Make sure the message gets to each of them and tout the benefits we're already seeing among the noble ladies." Matthew gave him a stern look. "Expecting mothers will not want either themselves or their newborns to be put at risk. If that's not enough, those who neglect the health of those so vulnerable will be thrown into the stocks."

"Yes, Your Grace." Pycelle could say nothing else.

"You have many intriguing notions, Your Grace." Varys smiled. "There are already many tales being told about your actions."

"Are they calling me a hero or a madman?"

"Depends on the source." Varys leaned forward onto the table. "Due to… certain rumors, many at court ask themselves why you would lower yourself to protect whores."

"Lower myself? Lord Varys, you came from humble beginnings yourself, correct? And slavery is punishable by death in every kingdom. I merely administered it."

"Not quite what I had in mind when I arranged a gift for you." Tyrion quipped. "I've heard things as well: on the streets, I've heard you considered a hero out of a fairytale."

"I trust the other brothel owners have gotten the message." Matthew wasn't naïve enough to think he'd suddenly ensured every prostitute's safety but hoped some of the businesses would think twice.

"My little birds tell me they're terrified you'll come for them next."

"Good. Perhaps they and their clients will keep the consequences in mind. Right now, though, I've got other concerns. According to my own spies, Daenerys Targaryen is in Qarth with three dragons."

"If that's true, the Targaryen needs to be killed immediately!" Cersei spoke up.

_Huh, she can say something intelligent once in a while. _"Yes, I think we're going to have to act," Matthew spoke reluctantly. 21st century values would only lead to disaster in Westeros, but they were nonetheless difficult to discard. "Her dragons are small now, perhaps. What's going to happen when she crosses the Narrow Sea? One dragon can destroy an entire army."

"You intend to give the assassination order your father rescinded, Your Grace?" Pycelle questioned.

"I'm afraid so. Not my favorite tactic, but I know what will happen if she arrives. But…" Matthew raised a finger for emphasis. "I don't want to give a general command, offering a Lordship to whoever succeeds in killing Daenerys. This should be a professional job."

"Perhaps we can offer instructions to Jorah Mormont," Varys suggested. "He is close to the girl and is eager to return home."

_Yeah, like I'm that stupid. _Jorah both loved and lusted after Daenerys. "No, he's not suitable for the task. I want a professional killer; a man or woman who can end the Dragon Queen's threat quickly and discretely. A Faceless Man, if possible."

"Your Grace, I don't think we possess enough money in the treasury to hire a Faceless Man," Tyrion warned. "Not and deal with the crown's debt at the same time."

"She's in Qarth right now, correct?" At least if Matthew remembered the books correctly. "It would have been much better for us if Daenerys perished in the Red Waste. Have a down payment of gold sent, along with anonymous instructions for her death." Matthew wasn't sure how much good it would do, but the last thing he wanted to face were three fully-grown dragons.

"I will make the arrangements, Your Grace." Varys agreed.

_But to kill her or save her, I wonder? _Much as Matthew wished he could have Varys killed, it would leave him blind to further developments in Westeros. He had few spies of his own, and indeed not the extensive network Matthew would require.

"Your Grace, you are speaking of murdering an innocent girl." Barristan frowned in disapproval.

"If you have a better idea, by all means, tell me," Matthew responded. _I'm not surprised he would object to it. _"Being King doesn't allow any easy decisions to be made. If she arrives with an army and three dragons, millions will die. One life for millions is a fair trade."

Barristan paused, wanting to argue but struggling to overcome Matthew's logic. Not allowing him to come up with a reason, Matthew declared: "My decision's final. Westeros has suffered two wars in a generation. I won't allow her to inflict more devastation."

_I don't think the tactic is going to work, but the effort needs to be made. _At least in the books, scorpions and ballistas could only kill young dragons, save for an enormously lucky shot. Cannons would be more effective… in theory. _Expect I'm going to find out for myself when the time comes. _

Their conversations turned to more local matters, chief among them the food supply. Varys and Pycelle informed him about complaints from those at court being forced to abstain from their luxuries. _Tell them to suck it _were words Matthew very nearly spoke out loud. "Ask them what's likely to happen if the poor get desperate enough to riot."

"One problem, however, has been solved," Cersei smirked. "Baelish will no longer give us any difficulties. His plans have been fully revealed, and a message has been sent to anyone else thinking of treason. I must say, wildfire is a spectacular right." Her eyes lit up in a way that reminded the Small Council of the Mad King.

"You did what?!" Matthew could not hold himself back and bellowed.

"I'm not about to allow anyone to consider us weak." Cersei defended. "My grandfather was a kind man, and he nearly brought ruin to our house."

"I hope you didn't take his word for it." Tyrion cautioned. "I haven't had the time to search properly, but it's clear Littlefinger had something big planned."

"The rest of you get out," Matthew ordered. "I need to have a private discussion with my mother." No one dared to disobey, with the Small Council making a hasty retreat.

"Mother, what part of my orders were unclear to you?" Matthew spoke with quiet fury. _Now we're going to have the Vale to contend with, courtesy of that yandere Lysa on the throne. _"Did you ever consider I had a reason for keeping him alive?"

"Treason cannot go unpunished, sweetling." Cersei insisted, making Matthew cringe at the word. It was occasionally hard to forget he wasn't actually her son. "We are surrounded by enemies all looking for any sign of weakness. Mercy is not rewarded; only spat on."

"I wouldn't call what I had done to him mercy, but you might have just screwed us all. Baelish had a hidden ally, one almost no one knew about. Lysa Arryn's been obsessed with him since she was a girl."

"Why would such a highborn lady have any interest in a man like Littlefinger? The man died the way he deserved."

"And we're going to keep that hidden for as long as we can. Please tell me you didn't do anything like send letters all over the Seven Kingdoms announcing his death as a warning for treason." Cersei didn't answer, but her silence was reply enough. "Fuck!"

"You're still new to ruling, and your father was…" Even Cersei hesitated to attack Robert in front of Matthew.

"Yes, he was an incompetent drunk. Tell me, though: how exactly does subverting my authority make me look anything but weak? If I have my orders countermanded, what message does that send to those at court?" Matthew strained to keep his temper under control.

"I apologize," Cersei spoke the words with great difficulty.

"We're all going to be sorry once the Vale joins in the war. Hill tribes aren't going to be able to do much to hinder their forces, even being armed with better weapons." Matthew considered removing her from the Small Council, as Cersei's actions had proven themselves a liability on multiple occasions.

_That would probably blow up in my face too. On the Small Council, I can keep watch on her. _"Do keep in mind we're on our own and likely to face a siege in a short amount of time. You're my mother, but keep this up, and I'll remove you from the Small Council."

Despite her unhappiness at being rebuked, Cersei felt pride at the man her son had grown into. "You're already a far better King than Robert."

"Next time you plan on making a big decision, clear it with me." Matthew brushed the compliment aside. "If you'll excuse me, I have some brothels to visit."

As always, Barristan waited outside the door to escort him. Matthew nodded in respect, walking towards his destination.

Balon Swann joined them shortly afterward; he was the one Matthew spoke to replace Arya Oakheart, remembering him as an honorable man from the books. He even gave Balon a brief smile, grateful for someone who deserved to wear the White Cloak.

Matthew spoke about the brothels he intended to experiment with just loud enough to be overheard without being obvious about it. A few ladies were aghast or at least made the appearance of being so. Others spoke in huddled tones, making crude jokes.

"I think I remember the way correctly." Matthew clapped his hands together. Both Swann and Barristan stayed silent, exchanging a brief glance.

_This at least will be easier than Small Council meetings. I can deal with my enemies; my allies are the ones likely to send me to an early grave! _Having to make battle plans to face multiple enemies who outnumbered him while dealing with the constant stupidity at court made Matthew want to unleash his inner Joffrey at times.

His first destination was Chataya's brothel. The dark-skinned woman greeted him with a bow and smile. "Welcome to my establishment, Your Grace."

"Thank you, and how is Serenity doing?" She'd informed Matthew she didn't know any other way than whoring to support herself. As child protective services did not exist, he at least decided to place her in a location where Serenity would be better treated.

"She's adapting, Your Grace." Chataya bowed again. "I promise you, all my girls are treated well."

"Be sure and keep it that way." Matthew gave a brief warning. The stories of his rampage grew with each telling. He didn't think Chataya would do so but knew better than to take anything for granted.

"Let me introduce you to my daughter Alayaya." The woman hurried to find her. Matthew looked over the brothel, a few of the customers staring at him nervously.

_Definitely better than Littlefinger's businesses, not that that's saying much. _The moans he listened to didn't sound as fake, with Matthew concluding he was in the right place.

"It's an honor to serve you, Your Grace." Alayaya was tall, but not quite as tall as her mother. "Is this your first time here?"

"Yes, and I've heard Summer Islanders are legendary for their skills at lovemaking." Matthew grinned, taking in her beauty. Alayaya gave his crotch a brief squeeze and led him to her private room.

During the journey, he watched each corridor, listening to the customers brag about their exploits. Matthew never ceased to be amazed at how open they were with prostitutes.

With the door secured, Alayaya removed her clothing and asked: "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

"Matter of fact, yes." Matthew tossed her a silver coin. "What I'm looking for is information."

"What do you wish to know, Your Grace?" Alayaya sat down and caressed him.

"Anything you might find relevant. Enemy plans, whispers of treason, the comings, and goings of the prominent men at court…"

"You want me to be your spy, you mean?" Alayaya whispered, still trying to get him to lay down.

"Exactly. Recent events have already shown I'm willing to look after my subjects. In return for this service, I offer both money and protection. I'm sure you've had a few difficult clients."

"Yes, Your Grace. Westeros is not like the Summer Islands. Here, men are willing to use whores, but see them as lower than dirt."

"That won't happen with me. If you say yes, I will ensure whoever mistreats you will suffer a severe penalty. All you have to do is write down a few notes."

"I… I cannot read, Your Grace."

_Damn. _"In that case, I'll just have to visit you. You have a good memory, I trust?"

"I do, Your Grace. Men are most talkative after sex."

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"It is, Your Grace." Matthew gave another silver coin as an act of sincerity. "Tales of your kindness are already being spread. Serenity can't stop talking about you. I can thank you properly."

"Another time, love." Matthew kissed her cheek. "Now since the men and women in this building are all abuzz, certain things will be expected of us. I trust you know how to fake enjoying yourself."

"As you like, Your Grace." Alayaya looked disappointed, having wanted to be with the King. "If you're ever interested in a proper reward… you know where I am."

"You're a hard woman to turn down." Matthew was very tempted to accept, with his attempt at loyalty to his girlfriend fraying by the day. "And if anyone in this establishment tries to rape the girls, you'll let me know about that too, I hope." Such crimes were beyond the pale on Earth, at least in the United States, but Matthew knew they were commonplace in Westeros."

"I will, Your Grace. Are you sure you're not interested?" Alayaya looked down between his legs and smirked. "I believe you're a man for whom my pleasure will be genuine."

It took everything Matthew had to say no. _Why am I being so stubborn? She's 16, which is legal in much of the U.S. and certainly no problem in this shithole. _

But his goal was accomplished. It would take time, but Matthew intended to build a spy network of his own. Robert Baratheon's reputation would serve him well; few would think anything of his supposed son following in his footsteps.

XXXXXXXXXX

_What could the Lannisters possibly want with us? _Davos Seaworth carried the two letters in his hands to Stannis Baratheon.

Despite being the rightful king, Stannis only had a few supporters. Many of the Storm Lands went towards his brother Renly, although some left when rumors of his homosexuality came to light.

The five thousand supporters he did have were still based on Dragonstone. Stannis' only advantage was his Navy, bolstered by the sellsail Salladhor Saan.

Even had he been so inclined to read the letters, Davos was illiterate so it would make no difference. He ignored the disdainful looks of the men around him as he climbed the steps of Dragonstone. Davos cared nothing for their opinions of his low birth.

"Where is King Stannis?" Davos inquired of the first page he saw.

"He is at the topmost tower with Lady Melisandre." The page wore a fiery heart on his clothing, an indication he had converted to the Red God's religion.

"Thank you very much." Davos nodded, always making sure to treat his subordinates with respect.

_No matter what, I have made sure my children will lead better lives than the ones I had. _Davos thought with pride. They would not be forced to live in Flea Bottom and survive on scraps.

He walked up the steps with little difficulty, bracing himself for Melisandre's presence. Of all the women he had by his side, the red woman frightened Davos. He still refused to believe in her powers, but the influence she had over Stannis could not be doubted.

Dutifully, he knocked on the door. Davos witnessed no guards outside, with Melisandre claiming there would be no need for them.

"I hope this is important, Davos," Stannis stated the instant the door was open. However, he would have demanded most others leave his presence rather than accept a surprise visit.

"You have two letters from King's Landing, Your Grace." Davos bowed, making sure to keep his eyes away from Melisandre. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever encountered… and the most unnatural. Standing even taller than Stannis, she observed him with strange eyes.

"What could they possibly want with me?" Stannis griped, reluctantly taking the letters. "I will not bend the knee to the Lannisters, not when they murdered Jon Arryn and would have killed me had I not fled."

"I cannot say, Your Grace," Davos spoke honestly. Stannis snatched the letters out of his hand, ripping the seals open. He looked towards the fire, likely considering throwing the letters inside, but a brief shake of the head indicated otherwise.

For Davos' benefit, he began to read:

_Dear Uncle Stannis: _

_ I expect your first impulse will be to throw this letter into the fire. However, it is in both our interests for you to heed my words. _

_ The two of us share a common interest: destroying the corruption infesting the Seven Kingdoms. Baelish and many others have been neutralized but even as King, I cannot undertake such an arduous task alone. My father chose to do nothing about the rampant corruption in his court, an act all of us will soon regret. _

_ You are one of the few honest men in Westeros. You worked tirelessly to keep Robert from destroying himself and the realm with him. Together, we can run the Seven Kingdoms the way the people deserve. _

_ Agree to swear fealty to me, retract the claims of incest, and I will name you the Hand of the King. The very job I believe you were hoping my father would grant you instead of Ned Stark. _

_Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms_

"This cannot be Joffrey Lannister!" Stannis scoffed, looking over the letter a second time. It was Joffrey's handwriting, however, which would be hard to falsify.

"Perhaps it was written by his mother, Your Grace," Davos suggested. "Or the Spider. If anyone can fake a letter, it is him."

"Joffrey was foolish and cruel, which my brother chose to do nothing about." Stannis continued. "He cut open a cut to see its kittens… too much of his mother in him and Robert refused to let anyone foster him. He would have done better under my tutelage, or even Ned Stark. Joffrey would have threatened me with death had he written it."

"Your Grace, if I may ask, what do you plan to do?"

"I am certainly not going to take his offer. He claims he wishes to punish corruption, and knows that is among my greatest desires… a better manipulator than I expected. Let us see what his second letter contains." Stannis looked through a couple of lines before pulling his head back. "This one is for you."

"Perhaps he intends to convert to the Lord of Light." Even Melisandre did not believe such a thing would happen, though.

_Melisandre: _

_ There is only one war that matters: The Great War. The real enemy is mobilizing his forces beyond the Wall while we slaughter ourselves throughout the land. _

_ If we do not unite to face this common threat, every man, woman, and child will die at the hands of the Others. The longer our dispute lasts, the fewer men we will have to face them. You, if few others, know what the consequences will be. _

_Joffrey Baratheon _

"How could Joffrey believe in the Great Enemy, let alone assemble a force to fight them?" Stannis was astonished but no longer inclined to dismiss him out of hand.

"I do not believe this is a jest, Your Grace." Davos offered. "If this was a mere trap, a second letter would not have been addressed to Melisandre. Joffrey believes this to be true."

"And that I do not understand." Stannis sighed. "His offer could have been written by his infernal mother or the Spider. Mentioning the Others… even in the North, they are thought to be vanquished. I am unsure as to whether or not they still exist, but Melisandre believes they will consume us all. Why Joffrey would use them in a trick, I do not know."

"He is not Joffrey Lannister," Melisandre spoke, sticking her hand inside the fire. Davos marveled at how she could do it without injury, beginning to believe in the power she possessed. "He is, but he is not."

"What do you mean?" Stannis and Davos spoke together, having the same thought.

"He is… difficult to read in the flames," Melisandre retracted her hand with no sign of injury. "He has the body of the abomination, but not Joffrey's spirit. Whoever this is speaks the truth."

"Are you suggesting we fight alongside him?!" Stannis responded with disgust.

"I will follow you anywhere, Azor Azai," Melisandre affirmed. "We have only one true enemy. The one you are destined to defeat."

"Your Grace, if he speaks truly…" Davos hesitated. _Perhaps the woman is lying, but it would have been in her interest to dismiss the idea. _

"What would you suggest I do, Ser Davos?" Stannis asked of his most trusted advisor. Davos noted he appeared to be considering it. He still did not believe in such things, but Melisandre did, and Stannis was being convinced there was a greater enemy waiting beyond the Wall.

After careful consideration, Davos gave his answer.

XXXXXXXXXX

If Matthew expects he'll win over Stannis Baratheon… to say it's not going to be easy is a dramatic understatement. He's still inside the body of Joffrey, after all. Matthew's actions in the chapter are a gamble, with no guarantees of them paying off.

Not only does he have to deal with exterior enemies, the stupidity of his allies is no less crippling. Cersei blundered from disaster to disaster in the books, to give one example.

Sansa is a bit difficult to write for since she doesn't endure the kind of suffering she did in the books. As Joffrey didn't chop her father's head off, her feelings for him remain. However, while she's still naïve, Sansa is no fool.

Next chapter, Matthew learns that some secrets cannot be kept forever.


	8. The truth revealed

"Do everything you can for him, all right?" Robb Stark instructed, looking down at Stevron Frey's injuries. A poleaxe shattered half of his ribs despite the armor he wore, in addition to a sword piercing him in the armpit.

_Too many have died already, _Catelyn thought, giving him a brief prayer. He was one of the few decent Freys, in sharp contrast to his father.

The Silent Sister nodded in understanding. "Let me know if anything changes," Robb gave a final order as he removed himself from the tent.

Despite winning a major victory in the Battle of Oxcross, Catelyn could not bring herself to feel any joy. Lannister losses were enormous and they'd removed Tywin's ability to assemble another host in the near future, but their losses were still considerable.

_What are we even fighting for? _Slaughtering Lannister bannermen would not bring her Ned back to her. Nor had her son developed any long-term plans for the future other than vengeance.

Grey Wind marched around the Lannister prisoners, his teeth still painted with red from the enemies he'd slaughtered. Captives observed him with terror, knowing their lives were forfeit if there was even the slightest hint of disobedience.

A couple hours later, her brother returned, wearing a delighted expression. "Hunted down and put some of the Mountain's Men to the sword!" Edmure cheered, raising his sword in the air. The river lords who accompanied him were no less eager, overjoyed at the opportunity for revenge.

"Such men deserve no less," Catelyn spoke. She could not take pleasure in the death of most, but the Mountain's Men and Clegane himself deserved all the justice they could dish out. "Did any of them escape?"

"A few… but they're on the run now." Edmure responded. "Soon as Tywin responds to our attacks, we'll remove his threat and afterwards, win the war."

"You are so certain Tywin will take the bait?" Robb had given orders to move through the Westerlands, with the intent of luring him into a trap. Whether they won or lost didn't matter, so long as he was unable to defend King's Landing from an imminent siege.

"He will have so, else he will look weak to his bannermen," Edmure explained. "I would have preferred to take the fight directly to Tywin, but your son insisted on luring him out." Upon hearing the plan, Catelyn insisted to her son the entire plan be given to her brother, in order to prevent any miscommunications.

_If Robb hadn't listened… _Catelyn was no soldier, but knew how easily things went wrong in wartime. "My son has won every battle he's fought."

"He has, but what are we going to do afterward? Once Tywin's beaten, we should march down to King's Landing itself." He left before Catelyn could reply, still exultant over his victory.

Catelyn marched throughout the tents, ordering their maesters and Silent Sisters to look after the enemy as well. She knew many of her son's men would grumble, but with the Lannisters still holding so many of their own men, Catelyn intended to give them no reason to retaliate.

"So what are we going to do now?" Catelyn located her uncle Brynden Tully, commonly known as the Blackfish. "Have you heard anything about our next move?"

"No, and that concerns me," Brynden admitted, a few spots of blood still visible on his armor. Catelyn would have preferred to be told it wasn't her place to know Robb's plans. "Truth be told, I'm not sure Robb knows himself. He's a brilliant commander, but… still only seventeen years old."

"Few of his bannermen seem to care." They were too caught up in their victories to give much thought to the future.

"They're drunk with the idea of vengeance. However much I would like to join them, we need to plan for the future. Perhaps we can go all the way, appoint Robb King of the Seven Kingdoms."

_By the Gods, no! _Catelyn only just managed to keep herself from saying it out loud. Even if they won, Robb was too honorable to survive in the Capital. They'd murder him the way they killed Ned. "I do not believe that's wise, Uncle."

"We need some reason to continue the war. Vengeance alone will not sate us for long. Winter will soon be here, if it has not arrived already. The Maesters state the South Star has disappeared, a certain sign that Winter is imminent. Else we should send our troops home and resume when summer arrives again."

"Perhaps when we free Sansa and Arya…"

"Sansa recently sent us a letter, asking for us to end the war and make peace." Brynden handed her the parchment. Catelyn looked it over, ecstatic to hear from her daughter. Even if they were Cersei's words, knowing Sansa was still alive filled her with joy.

Catelyn read each word carefully, each line reminding her of Sansa's presence. "This… does not read like Cersei's words." Catelyn concluded when she was finished. Her daughter still had feelings for the King despite everything.

"Perhaps some of her feelings are genuine, but these are still Cersei's words." Brynden lowered his voice and whispered: "I've gathered a handful of my best men to infiltrate King's Landing and free your daughters from captivity. It will take time, but we will get them out of Joffrey's grip."

Catelyn forced herself into a stoic demeanor. "That would be most appreciated, Uncle. It's been far too long since I've seen them."

"We'll make our final plans tonight. Thank the Gods you convinced Robb to tell my foolish nephew the plan, else Edmure could have led us to disaster."

_Perhaps this is where I can do the most good. _Catelyn had wanted to travel in order to form alliances, with her sister if no one else. Staying with her son, however, had convinced Robb not to send Theon to Pyke, keeping their ward by his side.

Robb didn't always listen to her, but Catelyn could change his mind when no one else was capable. The time passed by slowly for her, knowing their next move could make or break their campaign.

"According to our latest intelligence, Tywin is still at Harrenhal." Brynden informed that night during their War Council. "He has shown no signs of leaving, nor do I believe he will, not when King's Landing will soon be under attack."

"Once he leaves, we can take Harrenhal, have a knife pointed right at the Lannister's throat!" The Greatjon declared. "My son's worth ten Southerners." Some of the Tullys scowled but said nothing.

"He won't leave Harrenhal unguarded, and even with a small garrison, we won't have the strength to take it without massive losses." Edmure cautioned.

"We don't need to take the castle, just keep Tywin from using it as a fortification." Roose Bolton suggested. "Kill them in the night, use the gaps in the castle to hit them. Do not let them rest, and Harrenhal will be useless to them."

Arguing continued long into the night. Some wanted to move on Lannisport and Casterly Rock, while others argued for moving on Harrenhal and preventing Tywin from bringing his forces to King's Landing.

"What are we fighting for?" Catelyn interrupted them. "We've yet to lose a battle, but neither do we have any plans for the future. Once my daughters are free, then what?"

"My sister makes an excellent point," Edmure proclaimed with a smile. "The Realm has suffered at the hand of the Mad King, a drunk, and now a boy who possesses the same madness as Aerys. This time, we deserve a King worthy of the Iron Throne." Edmure drew his sword and pointed at Robb. "I can think of no better King than my nephew, Robb Stark."

"It's long past time a Northerner held the Iron Throne!" The Greatjon concurred, slamming his fists on the table. "The Southerners and their political games have no place here! It's time to introduce them to Northern justice! There's only one man worthy for me to bend the knee to: The Wolf King!"

"The Wolf King!" Nearly everyone in the tent cheered. Brynden and Catelyn exchanged nervous looks, knowing there was no turning back at this point.

"It's time we declare an end to all the political machinations in King's Landing," Edmure continued, sheathing his sword. "Westeros deserves a ruler who will look after all his people, not merely his sycophants." The cheer at those words was more limited. Although he cared deeply for the smallfolk, Edmure was among the minority even in the North.

"An excellent suggestion," Roose smiled in a way Catelyn didn't like. "We have suffered at the hands of the Southrons for centuries. All the while, the Targaryens left nothing but ruins behind. I believe My Lord is perfect for the job."

"The Wolf King! The Wolf King!" Amidst the cheers, Robb was the only one who refused to smile. Open-mouthed at his bannerman, he gripped the table and wiped off the displeasure on his face.

_There's no turning back now, _Catelyn knew. The Lannisters would soon learn of the declaration, as would the Baratheon brothers. She vowed to herself that she would do everything possible to see Robb sit the Iron Throne.

XXXXXXXXXX

"All right, let's see if these designs work," Matthew announced, standing a safe distance away from the cannons. They looked similar to the designs he remembered from Earth, but he wasn't about to bring them into battle without testing them first.

"They have followed your specific instructions," Tycho assured, pointing to each of the four cannons. Matthew was hoping for a more extensive arsenal, especially as they had little time, but new designs took time to perfect.

"I trust all of them are… yes, good," Matthew mentioned, distantly making out the designers having wax and cloth stuffed into their ears.

His Kingsguard watched with trepidation, not believing his ideas would work. Matthew had a hard time blaming them, as he wasn't entirely sure himself. _If I remembered enough about how these are built, I've got a game-breaking weapon. If not…_

Matthew jumped from the sound of the first cannon firing, his ears protesting despite the distance. He gave a twinge of sympathy, knowing those testing the weapons were liable to be deaf by the end.

All four cannons were fired in sequence, being rocked back but showing no visible damage. "All right, they've passed the first test," Matthew clapped his hands in approval. "Now let's see if they can survive a second time."

"Your Grace, we still possess a limited supply of explosive powder," Tycho interrupted.

"Our battle's likely to last days, maybe even weeks," Matthew pointed out. "I don't want these things blowing up and killing the operators." _At least Bronze makes them more mobile. _

"As you wish, Your Grace," Matthew noted the Kingsguard were losing their skepticism, annoyed faces replaced with wonder… and a slight amount of terror.

All cannons were fired simultaneously on the second test, smoke obstructing Matthew's vision. He looked through, only just able to make out the operators. A couple were unsteady on their feet, unaccustomed to their explosive power.

"So does this mean we have a deal?" Matthew grinned at Tycho, already making plans on how to best use the new weapons.

"You've proven yourself to be a man of your word, Your Grace," Tycho nodded in approval. "I do not think it unreasonable to remove 50,000 gold dragons of the debt."

"Think of what you'll be able to do against your neighbors," Matthew encouraged, looking forward to giving the slaveowners what they deserved. "However, I would recommend you move quickly while you still possess this advantage. If we can figure out how to build these devices, so will your enemies."

"You are most wise, Your Grace. To the best of my knowledge, Braavos has not built any as of yet, but all things take time."

"Speaking of which, how many more of these will we be able to build? At most, we have perhaps three weeks until my Uncle Renly is upon us."

"Two more are in the process of construction, Your Grace. I apologize for the delay, but such designs are tricky to build. Forging them with the strength to withstand…"

"All right, I get the point," Matthew cut him off, Tycho rubbing his beard nervously. "Assuming we survive all this, you're going to start training more men. Find smallfolk willing to learn, follow instructions, and offer a steady payment."

"Your Grace, the process is long and complicated. The consequences of…"

"Since we don't have enough trained men, train more. Or break it down into baby steps any idiot can understand. Best case scenario is we'll have six black barrels to face 60,000 men. I want us to do everything possible with the limited opportunity we have."

Tycho knew better than to argue, so he nodded and obeyed. _No way to keep them secret for long, _Matthew thought. Provided they proved their effectiveness on the battlefield, his enemies would start constructing them as well.

"Any luck on the smaller versions?" The most advanced musket Matthew could feasibly build was the Brown Bess.

"It's proving to be difficult, Your Grace. While the barrel is relatively simple, thanks to your design, the firing device is tricky to duplicate."

"We'll have to worry about that once the siege is over; all the more reason more men have to be brought in." The Braavosi moved to conceal the cannons within wagons. Matthew doubted the secret would be kept for long, but he would make the effort when possible.

No matter how many times Matthew entered the city, he could never get used to the stench. His nose wrinkled, observing the sight of chamber pots being dumped onto the street.

_The city's still starving. _What goodwill Matthew gained from his displays of charity was rapidly fading. Some smallfolk looked at him with a grateful or neutral expression. Too many, however, blamed him for the city's ills.

"Until this war's over, there's nothing more I can do," Even as King, there were limits to Matthew's power.

"Fresh rats! Fresh rats!" He heard a storekeeper advertise.

Matthew moved from side to side, attempting to avoid the puddles of urine. _Perhaps some tunnels in the center of the street so we can at least have some waste trickle down into the bay. _That would be for the future, provided he survived the Blackwater.

"How many of the people surrounding us do you expect are spies?" Matthew remarked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"Many, Your Grace," Balon Swann answered honestly. Those staring at him Matthew believed were innocent; it was those who blended in he had to worry about.

The cannon's operator did not speak a word, Matthew's weapons fortunately light enough to be wheeled inside the city streets without too much difficulty.

Inside the Red Keep, Matthew spotted Tommen and Myrcella alongside Clegane, speaking and giggling with each other. He waved to them in greeting, getting a hesitant response back. _I'd spend more time with them if I could, but there's a war to win. _

"Your Grace, Lord Renly has quickened his pace to King's Landing," Varys hastened to inform upon spotting him.

"How much time do we have?"

"Two weeks, three at most," Varys looked around, attempting to appear frightened. Matthew didn't buy it for a moment.

"Then we'll have to accelerate our defensive plans," Matthew decided. He turned to Tycho and ordered: "Get everything you can completed. Ready or not, they'll be needed."

"At once, Your Grace." Matthew trusted Tycho to take care of the details, at least as much as he believed any banker.

Marching up to his chambers, taking the steps two at a time, Matthew intended to prepare for his training. What time he didn't spend trying to run the realm he improved his skill with weapons. Matthew opted for a mace, not seeing a sword as an effective weapon against plate armor.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Matthew demanded of Tyrion. _In the future, I'm going to keep guards on my door at all times. Bywater can inform me which of the Gold Cloaks are relatively trustworthy. _

"Is that any way to greet your favorite uncle?" Tyrion smirked. Based on how wide his smile was, the Imp was positively gloating.

"Make this quick; I don't have time for games." Matthew shut the door and removed his formal clothing, preferring to spar in something more comfortable.

"You're not Joffrey Baratheon… or Joffrey Lannister, if we wish to be honest with each other." Tyrion's words made his heart stop.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew stammered.

"I picked it up the moment I arrived in King's Landing. When I heard you were King, I was expecting disaster; perhaps even that you'd executed Stark on a whim." Matthew opted not to tell Tyrion how accurate he was.

"Nobody changes so rapidly without a reason. The way you carry yourself, the face indicating you've seen worse than most can imagine… those can't be faked."

"You've got quite the imagination, Uncle." Matthew attempted to play it off as a joke.

"No, it's not my imagination." Tyrion wagged his finger. "At first, I thought it was a faceless man, but what interest would they have in the Iron Throne? Then I paid attention to your decrees: hand washing, an absurdity you called germ theory, all with absolute confidence they would work.

"And when I saw your notes inside the desk, everything came together. You should really have secured them better, nephew. Locks don't provide much protection in this city. No guards on your door, not that it would have been any certain protection." Tyrion's face transformed into a wicked grin. "I wonder how my dear sister would respond if she knew you were a fraud."

"Empty threat, Imp," Matthew scoffed. "Even if what you said was true, you'd be considered a madman. My mother would sooner rip your tongue out than listen to her hated brother. Hypothetically, you'd be much better off feigning ignorance." He rubbed his chin, considering having Tyrion killed. _No, not unless he pushes it. _

"There, that's what I was looking for!" Tyrion clapped his hands together, jumping into Matthew's spare chair. "Joffrey would have screamed and ranted for daring to defy him. Truth be told, I'm happy I don't have to suffer my nephew. Having Westeros ruled by a petty, vindictive child isn't something any of us need."

"Where would you think I'm even from?"

"Certainly not from Westeros, or anywhere in the known world. After reading your ideas and possible future predictions, I don't believe you're from Omelos at all."

"Omelos?" Matthew never heard it described any way but Planetos.

"A name some of the Maesters refer to the known world as, though I doubt it'll catch on. Your ideas have the potential to transform Westeros and turn the Westerlands into the most powerful kingdom in the known world. Provided you can duplicate them, of course."

_Right; at this point, Tyrion's still loyal to his family. _"Assuming we survive the coming battle, at least."

"Only one thing still confuses me. You've been transported here, for some reason, and you know who most of the people here are. You can speak our language, read our words, and understand our system. Why?"

"I've speculated on that many times myself." Matthew no longer saw a point in denying it. "Perhaps Joffrey's memories mixed with mine. I can't begin to guess how or why this happened, so don't bother asking. I speak and write in your tongue, even if it looks like my language to me."

"What is it like in your world? Despite his best efforts, my father never quite crushed my curiosity."

"A lot of it's going to be impossible to describe. Even after the great war, we have wealth you could barely comprehend. The poorest of us often live in their 70s, beyond the lifespan of most Kings here." Tyrion's eyes widened in disbelief. "No, Tyrion, I'm telling you the truth."

"Something I could scarce imagine."

"And we have weapons more terrible than you can imagine. There are bombs around the size of the cannons I designed capable of wiping out all of King's Landing. Our cities can withstand them, provided you're not at Ground Zero, but the Capital would have no hope." Matthew lowered his voice, knowing the walls had ears.

"It's times like this that we need a drink." Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine and offered one to Matthew, who refused.

"I'd rather keep a clear head," Matthew shared what details of his world he felt were appropriate. In a way, he felt relief that he didn't have to carry his secret alone.

The more he spoke, the more astonished Tyrion became. Matthew worked on keeping his voice low but didn't always succeed. Technology, weapons, medicine, nearly everything stunned his supposed Uncle.

"If I was anyone else, I'd think you were mad." Tyrion laughed, drinking his fourth cup of wine. Despite his small size, it impacted his mind only slightly. "You're telling me commoners are allowed to choose their leaders? Even women?!"

"In my world, I'm one of those commoners, so watch your tongue," Matthew warned. "There are still parts of my world that work that are ruled by dictators, but fewer as time passes. Where I come from, the nation- that's what we call it- is meant to be an ideal. There are many times we haven't lived up to them, but compared to here, it's a paradise."

"I hope you're not naïve enough to think you can impose your so-called ideals on us," Tyrion laughed.

"Whatever naivete I had died nearly a decade ago. A world war that claimed 1.2 to 1.5 billion lives shattered it. Hard to believe it ended only five years ago… probably a bit more than that."

Tyrion spit out his drink. "Did you just say billion? Nephew, are you telling me you can count people in billions?"

"Around eight billion before the war; perhaps… 6.7 billion or so after it. Birth rate's only now starting to go up again."

"Even if you proclaimed the truth to the entire realm, no one would believe you," Tyrion grinned, pouring himself the last of the wine. "But you still haven't answered the question as to how you know who we are."

"The story of Westeros was written in a… book series." Matthew had serious doubts that he'd be believed on this one. "The author described most of this, though I have no idea how he got all that information. He didn't mention anyone having guns; probably dramatic license since fantasy stories usually leave them out."

"And what evidence do you have for this?"

"Tysha; your first wife. Tywin decided to teach you a lesson, so he had all his guards rape her." Tyrion wore the most enraged expression he'd ever seen. _Better not tell him the truth; I don't need him going nuts and killing everyone. _

"All right, I believe you," Tyrion spoke, still red-faced. "And I hope you realize to keep quiet about this. Everyone already knows how different you are to Joffrey. If not for the fact the truth is too impossible to believe, more would know the truth, putting you at greater risk."

"How did you put it together?"

"When I removed the impossible, what remained had to be the truth."

_Wonder if I should tell him he just quoted Sherlock Holmes? Nah. _"You always were the smartest Lannister. It's why I keep you around, Uncle Imp."

"Just so long as you don't push all those values on me, we'll have a wonderful partnership."

Matthew considered his words. Much as he wanted to, he knew social change was difficult to accomplish. "I expect you to tell me the truth, not what I want to hear. Hence why I insist you and Mother work together."

"We tear each other apart, correct?" Tyrion deduced.

"Yes, and it's in everyone's interest to prevent that." Matthew took a drink in spite of himself, being careful to limit his consumption.

"Well, I'm at least willing to wait until the war's over," Tyrion joked, finishing off the wine. Matthew couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Good, because I will not tolerate infighting," Matthew warned. "I've seen more terrible things than I care to mention and don't wish to see them repeat in Westeros." Tyrion and Matthew made small talk for a few moments before he departed.

_Probably shared too many details with him, _Matthew considered. However cathartic it was to admit the truth, he should have kept in mind everyone in King's Landing had their own agenda. _Fortunately, the fact it's too unbelievable for most helps mitigate the damage, but I will have to watch him. _

If it came down to it, Matthew knew he could get Shae to spill the beans. Contrary to what Tyrion thought, she had no true interest in him.

"So Robb Stark's declaring himself King as well," Matthew swore, reading the latest news from the battlefield. _Or more likely, someone else has declared him King. _It didn't sound in character for Robb to do so of his own volition. _That's going to complicate things. _

Despite Renly possessing the largest army, Matthew considered Robb a far more dangerous threat. He'd yet to lose a battle, and for some reason, did not make the blunders he had in the books. _Perhaps I can convince Balon Greyjoy to attack the North regardless; convince him Robb's too honorable to execute Theon. _

The Iron Islands would be an unreliable ally at best, but he'd take whatever he could get at this point. So long as the Westerlands were left unmolested, Matthew would offer them the western shore of the north in exchange for their help.

"If they backstab me, and they probably will, I'll be able to unite the rest of the Seven Kingdoms against them again." Matthew was counting on it, in fact. The Greyjoys would attack the Starks, either Balon or one of his siblings. Eventually, they'd turn their wrath to the others, allowing Matthew a pretext to crush them for good. He wouldn't repeat Robert Baratheon's mistake.

The next day, Matthew received a letter, sealed by the image of a red heart. Knowing it could only be one person, he hastily ripped the seal apart and read its contents.

_I will not bend the knee to a false King, let alone a product of incest. Whether you are Joffrey or another man pretending to be such, you have no right to the Iron Throne. _

_ If you are serious about working together to fight the enemy beyond the wall, abdicate the throne and swear loyalty to me. In return, I will pardon you and your family for crimes committed against the realm. All of us will need to unite against the threat beyond the Wall the Lord of Light speaks of. _

_ All debt the crown owes to the Lannisters will be null and void. Your grandfather, Tywin Lannister, will personally bend the knee and declare me the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Jaime Lannister will be stripped of his white cloak and sent to the Wall, as Ned Stark once urged. Your mother will be exiled to Casterly Rock. _

_ You speak of unity and claim all of us need to put aside our difference. Prove your words. _

_King Stannis Baratheon _

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't agree to that," Matthew shook his head. Cersei would have a fit if he brought the proposal. _Well, he's talking, which means Stannis isn't an open enemy right now. On his terms, perhaps, but he's shown himself willing to listen at least. _

Matthew threw the letter in the fire and began drafting a reply.

XXXXXXXXXX

The way things are going, Matthew might have been better off behaving like the canon Joffrey. He's got a massive army attacking from the South, and Robb Stark without the political mistakes that cost him so much. Few good deeds go unpunished in Westeros.

Stannis isn't going to bend that easily, but opening a dialogue at least (hopefully) keeps him from attacking King's Landing alongside his brother.

If anyone could figure out who he really was, it would be Tyrion. However, both of them better pray no one overheard their conversation.


	9. No good deed goes unpunished

Just my thoughts on the size of Westeros in my story. It's somewhat smaller than GRRM mentioned, but being that even he admitted he made the Wall to big, for instance, I shrunk things a little bit.

Riverlands: 160,000 Square Miles

Crownlands: 60,000 Square Miles

Westerlands: 125,000 Square Miles

Stormlands: 165,000 Square Miles

The Vale: 180,000 Square Miles

The Reach: 270,000 Square Miles

Dorne: 210,000 Square Miles

The North: 650,000 Square Miles

Skagos: 31,000 Square Miles

Iron Islands: 21,000 Square Miles

XXXXXXXXXX

"We'll reach it within the hour," Yoren announced, seeing Winterfell in the distance. He spoke primarily for Arya's benefit, who had successfully snuck her way out of King's Landing before she could be captured.

_Happy to know some things don't change, _Arya's delight had to be contained, though, else those who surrounded her would know who she really was.

"So that's what a real castle looks like," Gendry Waters remarked, looking it over with astonished eyes.

"You've never seen a castle before?" Arya scoffed, before giving a mental apology. Winterfell was home to her, but it was easy to forget others lived very different lives.

"No, m'lady," Gendry responded too low for anyone to hear. Arya pushed him in response, as she did every time he referred to her that way. "I've never been outside King's Landing."

"Perhaps you can find work at Winterfell," Arya suggested. She wasn't sure why, but she'd grown to enjoy the boy's company. As a smith, he'd be guaranteed immediate employment especially if she spoke up in his favor.

"Watch yourselves!" Yoren warned. "We might be in the North, but it ain't like it was before the war broke out."

_Fear cuts deeper than swords, _Arya reminded herself. Bandits had been a constant problem during their travels. A few had been murdered in the night, and several more perished from disease.

Arya looked over at the carts carrying those who were too sick to stand on their feet. Despite the fact most of them were criminals, she gave a brief prayer for their health. Lommy at least she got along with after he was intimidated into leaving her alone.

"My master wanted me to go to the Night's Watch," Gendry repeated. "Don't know why. Thought I was doin' well, but one day, he threw me out."

"I'm sure Bran will be willing to take you on," Arya encouraged. "You're not like all these others; you don't belong at the Wall."

"Maybe," Gendry wasn't convinced anyone inside Winterfell would be interested. He hated the idea of spending his life at the Wall, but with the smith throwing him out, Gendry had nowhere else to go.

She fingered Needle unconsciously, still fearful someone would steal it from her. It was the only thing Arya still possessed of Jon's. "Maybe I'll be able to visit him," Arya considered. After surviving the long journey, Arya was confident in her ability to defend herself.

Despite being at war, the landscape was just the same as ever. Farmland and nearby villages were left untouched, save for a few missing men that journeyed with Robb.

Most of those around her shivered in the cold weather, huddling their clothes around themselves as tightly as possible. Arya barely felt it, her skin free of goosebumps. Such weather only reminded her that she was home.

Another day passed before they reached the gates of Winterfell. Curious eyes looked at each other, wondering if perhaps they would be released from their orders to head to the Wall.

While the castle appeared unchanged at the surface, Arya saw very few of the men she was familiar with on the walls or at the gate. Instead, there were old men and young boys, inexperienced with the weapons they carried.

"State your business," One of the guards near the gate demanded. Arya spotted two archers nocking their bows in case of a threat.

"Yoren of the Night's Watch," he introduced himself. "I have someone you might be interested in." Seeing no point in playing coy, he added: "In my company is Lady Arya Stark, who escaped King's Landing shortly after the King's death."

The guards chuckled in response. Arya marched over to them, exclaiming: "I am Arya; now I demand entrance into Winterfell!"

"Didn't we have an Arya yesterday?" One of them remarked to his fellows.

"No, that was last week," A second responded. "And we had two of them."

"I'm telling the truth!" Arya insisted. She returned her voice to its feminine pitch instead of the masculine one she'd been using to conceal herself. "My father was killed by Joffrey, and Sansa's still held there!"

"Well, I suppose Lady Catelyn will be delighted to see you again," A third sighed.

"I . . . thought my mother was still with Robb's army." Arya had heard nothing about her mother's return.

"Maybe she's telling the truth," One of them realized. "All right, we'll take you to Lord Stark, see if he recognizes you. But if you're lying, you'll be flogged before we throw ya out."

"Open the gate!" Someone screamed, Arya struggling to contain her excitement. It was tempered by the fact Sansa was trapped in the Capital. However irritating her older sister was, she still feared for her safety.

Yoren and Arya were allowed in, as was everyone else, although they were closely watched. Spears were raised and swords were unsheathed with the full knowledge of who many of them were.

But no one but Yoren and Arya were allowed into the inner gates. Unlike the previous group of guards, her attitude convinced them that she was indeed Arya Stark.

"It's wonderful to see you back, Lady Arya," Her father's household guard recognized her instantly. "We've feared for your safety since the King's death."

"I'd like to speak to my brother," Arya responded politely, but she was eager to reunite with what remained of her family.

Despite it being months, Arya found her way to the Main Hall easily, convincing any doubters that still existed who she truly was. She flung the door aside despite its weight, sprinting ahead.

"Bran, it's me!" Arya called out upon seeing him. She spotted him writing something on parchment, so consumed by his duties that her words weren't heard. Maester Luwin gave Bran a gentle touch, pointing towards his sister.

"Arya!" Bran exclaimed, trying to push himself to his feet before remembering that he was crippled. Not caring about decorum, Arya jumped up and hugged him tightly.

"I missed you so much!" Arya grinned.

"How did you get out of the city?" Bran questioned, hands on her shoulders. Arya opened her mouth, only for Maester Luwin to cut him off.

"I believe this is not the best time to tell your story, My Lady," Luwin mentioned politely. "Much has happened since we saw you last."

"Sansa's still trapped in the Capital," Arya announced despite everyone in the room already knowing. Her eyes wandered over to two boys around her age she'd never seen before.

"These are two of Walder Frey's sons that Lord Robb agreed to foster in return for his support," Luwin explained. "May I introduce Big Walder and Little Walder."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lady," Little Walder kissed Arya's hand, making her recoil in disgust. Despite being named Little Walder, he was in fact the larger of the two.

_This one's a beast, _Arya realized. She didn't like either of the Freys but had an especially uncomfortable feeling around Little Walder. Only twelve and yet he had a look that reminded her of the most dangerous criminals bring transported to the Night's Watch.

Big Walder had a cruel look, but Little Walder. . . the boy would likely torture any unfortunate soul he could get his hands on. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. _It took great restraint for Arya not to kill him where he stood.

"Lord Robb has won every battle he's fought," Luwin informed her. "And he has declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms." He curled his lip in worry.

_Good; Robb will be able to kill them all, _Arya thought. Luwin continued summarizing all the information she'd missed during her travels. Some of it matched rumors she'd listened to, which Arya viewed skeptically at the time.

"And Renly is marching on King's Landing," Rodrik Cassel spoke up for the first time. "He's liable to take the city within a fortnight."

"Bran, there's a smith that I know would be perfect for Winterfell; his name's Gendry." Even with her joy at returning home, Arya refused to forget about him. "His master threw him out and forced him to go to the Night's Watch. I've seen his work; it's amazing!"

"My lady, if he is being sent to the Night's Watch, he is most likely a criminal," Rodrik cautioned.

"He's not!" Arya screamed defiantly, looking toward her brother for support. Bran had no time to answer before the door opened.

One of his household guard marched in, saying nothing but his face was a combination of grim and furious. He walked to Bran's desk, setting down a piece of paper. The guard muttered curses under his breath, although Arya could not make out the specifics.

_Was Robb beaten in the field? _Arya couldn't fathom it, not after so many successes. The Lannisters weren't going to beat her older brother.

Bran opened the letter carefully and read out to the others, more shocked than angry: "The Ironborn are raiding the western shore,"

XXXXXXXXXX

"There you go; I hope it assists your family being fed," Matthew smiled, giving out all the food he could. With a siege imminent, he knew he had to keep the smallfolk at least somewhat happy. It wouldn't do to have discontented peasants opening the gate and allowing Renly's forces to slaughter them.

Giving out food was a familiar routine to Matthew by now. As an added precaution, he brought along all members of the Kingsguard rather than Barristan alone. His efforts had done some good, but hunger was still rampant.

"I'm afraid that's it; I'll be back tomorrow," Matthew waved, but there was no cheer, unlike the previous occasions.

"Your Grace, I would suggest a retreat back to the Red Keep," Barristan spoke up. "They are hungry and for all your efforts, there are still many who blame you for the city's ills."

"I think you're right," Matthew admitted, not liking the feel of the crowd. He knew danger when he saw it. All it would take. . .

"That bastard's been holding out on us!" A voice in the crowd claims. "He gorges himself at every meal while he feeds us scraps!" There were more "yeah" responses than Matthew cared to hear.

Knowing pushing through the crowd would be a mistake, Matthew moved to the opposite direction. It was a detour, but it wouldn't matter if he could prevent a possible riot.

"Bread! Bread! Bread!" An increasing roar came up from the mob. Barristan and Balon unsheathed their swords, surrounding Matthew in both directions. He picked up his mace, hoping it wouldn't be put to the test.

A few in the crowd dispersed, mostly those who had received food from Matthew's donations. He forced himself to appear confident, knowing that weakness would be provocation.

Their escape was cut off by more angry smallfolk. Matthew scanned the crowd, seeing men, women, and children shouting for more food. _I'd better not say anything, _He didn't think reason would cut it. Had he possessed more food, Matthew would have given it out.

The mob was only twenty feet away, but not quite ready to attack. "Don't make any provocative moves," Matthew ordered, staring the crowd right in the face. All Kingsguard had their swords ready, with Matthew having to place a restraining hand on Mandon Moore.

Matthew ducked under a cow turd, the excrement landing on Barristan's armor. A second, however, smacked into the right side of his face, making him curse.

That was all the inspiration Boros Blunt needed to charge into the crowd and shove his sword through the heart of the boy who threw the cow dung. "Get back here, you idiot!" Matthew screamed, but the man either didn't hear his words or chose to ignore them.

With the boy's death, dozens charged forward. Boros swung his sword towards each attacker, killing several. Eyes wide, he attempted to retreat, but was overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

"Protect the King!" Barristan ordered, the remaining Kingsguard surrounding him. Boros struggled to his feet, only for a peasant woman to repeatedly smash his head with a rock. His helmet protected him from a lethal blow, but more attackers soon followed, restraining his arms and tearing his helmet off.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Matthew cursed, barely able to see around the Kingsguard surrounding him. _After everything I've done to assist them, and this is how I'm repaid?! _He clenched his mace tightly, ready to use it against anyone who dared come near him.

"Bread! Bread! Bread!" Was the main cry. "King Robb!" "Stannis!" and "Renly!" could occasionally be heard alongside the curses for whom they considered born of incest.

Rocks and cow dung were hurled, impacting members of the Kingsguard. Occasionally dung found itself on Matthew's armor as they delicately moved through the streets of King's Landing.

"They charge forward, they die!" Matthew had no more interest in mercy. They would receive none, so he would offer none. Fortunately, unlike Boros Blunt, the other Kingsguard had more sense than to charge into the crowd.

Smallfolk charged forward, carrying clubs, stones, and spears. Barristan and the others cut down anyone who came near, working as a team to escort Matthew to the Red Keep.

Matthew raised his mace and split open the skull of a woman Mandon was too slow to intercept. He curled his lip slightly at the blood, but revealed no other sign of displeasure. Despite the Kingsguard surrounding him, there were gaps for rocks and dung to be thrown.

"Shit!" Matthew looked up, seeing rocks being thrown over his guards. He was constrained so closely that there was no dodging them. Two rocks slammed into his helmet, nevertheless making him curse in pain.

The Kingsguard backed into the corner of the nearest building, realizing getting away was futile. Smallfolk charged into the them, intent on physically wrestling them to the ground. Matthew was forced to kill two more, one of them a boy who couldn't have been older than twelve.

_Never thought this was how I was going to die, _Matthew fought with all his strength, seeing his guards being overwhelmed. Meryn Trant fell to the ground, forcing Matthew to protect him. Rocks pummeled his body, while he used his spare arm to protect his face.

Even Barristan found it difficult to keep Matthew from harm. With hundreds of enraged smallfolk, it wouldn't be long before they reached him. That so many were slaughtered apparently did little to deter them.

"Fine, if that's how it is," Matthew glared. His skill was still minimal, but he wasn't facing trained Men-at-arms. A peasant shoved a knife towards his breastplate, Matthew almost laughing at the stupidity as he slammed the mace into his ribcage.

Gold Cloaks called from the Red Keep reinforced the Kingsguard, hitting the mob from behind. A few smallfolk had time to respond, although it mattered little. Those in the middle of the crowd turned their attention away from Matthew, either attempting to fight back or flee.

It took Matthew a few moments to realize reinforcements had arrived. Blood dripped down his helmet into his eyes, obstructing his vision.

"Your Grace, we need to move." Jacelyn Bywater urged him, clearing away the last of the opposition. "Shall we…" He gestured to the wounded smallfolk.

"Let them choke on their own blood and die," Matthew spat, hurrying to the Red Keep. _I expect by now, the entire city knows what happened here. _

No one dared to obstruct them further, as he feared they might. The presence of a hundred Gold Cloaks deterred angry smallfolk enough for everyone to reach the Red Keep unhindered.

"Are you okay, my son?" Cersei rushed over to him, looking over the bloodstains on his armor. "Did those vermin…"

"I'll be fine," Matthew put on a brave face. "None of the blood is mine. I may not have Uncle Jaime's skill, but thanks to the bravery of the Kingsguard, I am unharmed." Matthew turned to them and gave a nod to their bravery.

"It's nothing more than my duty, Your Grace," Balon responded, uncomfortable with such praise.

_I am never doing that again, _Matthew decided. His efforts had done little but put himself in mortal danger. For a few moments, Matthew expected to die, intending only to take as many as he could with him.

"I'll cut off all their hands for this," Cersei swore. "Their tongues, their feet… once Varys finds out who they are." She lowered her voice, pleading: "Please don't go back out there again. You cannot put yourself in such danger."

For once, she was showing sense. "I've no intention of it. Most of those who attacked me are dead or dying. As for the remainder… they will be found and punished." Matthew was in no mood to be merciful.

He gently broke out of Cersei's arms, not wanting to appear weak to any at court watching them. "I'm sure you'll be able to arrange that," Matthew stared coldly down at the city. After seeing his efforts to help repaid with death, he wasn't inclined to be merciful.

"Ser Boros Blunt's body should be recovered and buried properly, if possible," Barristan reminded.

"See to it," Matthew never cared for the man and in fact, the idiot helped spark the riot. As he was a member of the Kingsguard, however, Matthew reluctantly chose to give Blunt posthumous respect.

"You just can't seem to stay out of trouble, can you, nephew?" Tyrion remarked, waddling over to check on him.

"That would be putting it mildly," Matthew gave a dark chuckle.

"Let me guess: you were out feeding the smallfolk again?"

"With what I could manage, yes," Matthew didn't see the point in lying. Tyrion shook his head in shame.

"Sister, I trust you can allow me to speak with the King in private," Tyrion flashed Cersei a mocking smile.

"It'll be fine, Mother," Matthew reassured. Despite his orders, the siblings only barely cooperated.

Tyrion dragged him to the quietest place he could and asked: "What in the Name of the Seven were you thinking? You nearly got yourself killed!"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time, since we're not going to…"

"Good idea?" Tyrion scoffed, as if not being able to believe his stupidity. "The city's starving, and you thought it was smart to hand out scraps?! If my sister hadn't sent the Gold Cloaks, you'd be dead!"

"Nice to know you care," Matthew attempted to make a joke of it.

"Not the time for jokes, nephew. Barristan is the greatest Knight in the Seven Kingdoms, but even he could be killed by enough ants. If you were forced to fight, it meant you were about to be overwhelmed."

"All right, I think I've learned my lesson. . . at least until things improve."

"You're still not listening to me, Joffrey. I know that's not who you are, but as you haven't told me your real name, Joffrey it is." Tyrion looked over at his sister and the Kingsguard. Cersei looked about ready to order her brother's death.

"I made a mistake; I can admit when I'm wrong."

"All well and good, but you've forgotten the most important fact of all. From what you've told me, the nation you come from is a far gentler place. It's what you knew your entire life. But Westeros is not your world. Nor can you force it to be your world."

"Think I've figured that out by now," Matthew visibly shrunk at Tyrion's words.

"I know you think you're doing what's right. However, all that will accomplish is getting yourself killed. . . and by extension, me. Cersei will no doubt hold me responsible for anything that happens."

"God, I wish I could say you're wrong, Uncle Imp," Matthew groaned, taking in Tyrion's words. "What we're used to considering horrific atrocities is normal in Westeros. Thought I could change that, but. . ."

"You've already made a difference, nephew. But that doesn't mean you can act like my grandfather. He was a kind, gentle man, and his vassals thought him a weakling."

"I'm no Tytos Lannister, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, you possess strength that he lacks," Tyrion shook his head. "You have the makings of a good King, one far better than your predecessors. You can't just expect to behave like you would in . . . where did you come from?"

"A story for another time," Matthew considered Tyrion's words.

"You've told me as a ruler, it's best to avoid being hated. Perhaps that's true, but you need to avoid being weak as well." Tyrion concluded. "I'm always willing to offer advice on the Game of Thrones."

"And what are you expecting in return?" Matthew knew Tyrion well enough to understand he was working in his own self-interest.

"See, you've got at least a rudimentary understanding of all this," Tyrion encouraged. "And I don't have to suffer at the whims of a Mad King."

"What was that infernal Imp talking to you about?" Cersei questioned once Matthew returned to her.

"About how I shouldn't lower myself to help those ungrateful little bastards," Matthew lied with a scowl. His words were false, but Matthew's anger was true.

"For once, my brother speaks sense," Cersei grudgingly conceded.

"Have the rioters put to work," Matthew decided. "They put the security of King's Landing in danger, and it seems fitting to have them contribute to the defenses. Send them out escorted by Gold Cloaks to help barricade the gates from both sides. If any attempt to flee, fill them with crossbow bolts."

_Tyrion's right; virtue is weakness in a shithole like this. If I want to change things, then I'll have to win the war first. _Matthew heard the whispers when people didn't think he was listening. Too many at court alternately thought of him as weak, or Aerys reborn. _Rather contradictory, but since when have they ever been rational? _

"I try to keep them from starving, and they spit in my face," Matthew fumed, pacing around the Red Keep. "I implement policies that keep their wives and children alive; they try to kill me in return."

_Should have remembered the Golden Rule of Westeros: no good deed goes unpunished. _Matthew saw the frightened faces of those at court as they scrambled to get out of the King's way. _Good._

He wandered with no particular destination in mind, considering his next move. Renly was perhaps a week's travel away from the city, and they were outnumbered eight to one. Varys warned him the Vale was calling its banners, warning Matthew his attempts to conceal Baelish's death had failed. _I wouldn't doubt Varys spread it to begin with. Too valuable to replace and he knows this. _

"Maybe I should have behaved like the canon Joffrey," Matthew mouthed once he and Barristan were alone in the training yard. A massive army was marching towards the gates of King's Landing, and he couldn't rely on a Lannister-Tyrell alliance to save him. "We'll find out if those cannons make a difference."

Matthew sparred with Barristan, putting unparalleled ferocity into his strikes. Venting his anger, Matthew was heedless of the danger he put his Kingsguard in. Fortunately, Barristan had faced much worse.

Matthew quickly found himself on the ground after being tripped. "Your Grace, you cannot submit to anger, else your form will be weak," Barristan advised.

"Yeah, well, it helps with relieving stress," Matthew returned, getting to his feet. He lasted longer during the next round, learning to use his hand-to-hand combat skill alongside what passed for his swordsmanship.

Battle fever entered Matthew's body despite it being a sparring match, allowing him to drown out his fury and exhaustion. For a few moments, he forced Barristan onto the defensive until the legendary knight adjusted his tactics and won the match.

Matthew lost track of how long he dueled and clashed. By the end, he could barely swing a sword, but it didn't matter. "Well… that was helpful," Matthew let out a dark laugh, feeling himself nearly overheat in the armor.

His squires, two boys Matthew hadn't bothered to learn the names of, helped him out of it. Matthew stumbled slightly, knowing there was only so much he could do to improve.

Once he'd managed to calm down somewhat, Matthew approached Tyrion a second time. He and Bronn exchanged jokes and quips. "I think you're correct, Tyrion," Matthew conceded. "I won't be able to do anything if I don't win the war first, and I haven't forgotten how your grandfather was treated by his vassals."

"Always nice to have my genius appreciated," Tyrion clapped his hands. "Never fear, I'll be happy to help you keep that ugly iron chair."

"While expecting a reward, of course. That isn't why I'm here, though. I was going to ask you to. . . bring Alayaya to my chambers. It doesn't seem like a good idea for me to go out there right now, and you're small enough to blend in."

"What happened to being prim and proper?" Tyrion was well aware Matthew had never actually had sex at the brothels despite his attempts otherwise.

"At this point, I don't really give a shit anymore. Make the arrangement and tell her she'll be well paid for her time. Do try and keep this discreet."

_May as well accept it: I'm stuck in Westeros. Sure, I'm in Joffrey's body for some godforsaken reason, but I have no idea how to get back. It's long past time to accept I'm never going to see them again. _Matthew had a hard time caring about his previous morals.

He didn't intend to give up on improving things in Westeros, especially as it was his new home. However, Matthew would have to wait on many of them, at least until the Blackwater battle was won.

"And I'm done being soft," Matthew whispered to himself. _I've got to stop acting like I live in the 21__st__ century. Jaehaerys is considered the best Targaryen King, but he was still brutal when he had to be. In a lot of ways, Earth isn't that different. Some changes will be possible, but others won't. _

Matthew marched up to his chambers. At least Alayaya would be able to keep him distracted for a while. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Much as Matthew wishes otherwise, he can't transform Westeros into modern-day Earth. He did know this logically, but that doesn't always matter. Think of how difficult it would be to adjust going back in time 40-50 years, let alone Matthew's transition. It'll be a turning point for him, but whether for good or ill remains to be seen.

You'll see Robb's response to the Ironborn attack in the next chapter.


	10. Preparations

This took longer than I expected, but a combination of work and my original fiction led to a slight delay.

We're dealing with the likes of Westeros; there is no quick fix, as Matthew has sadly learned in his time as King. Technological change is one thing, but social change quite another. Perhaps he'll be able to push through a few reforms. . . maybe.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Bastard!" Robb swore, tearing the piece of paper to shreds. Rather than listen to his offer of an alliance, Balon Greyjoy chose to attack the North instead.

According to the latest reports, he was launching raids against the western shore, slaughtering villagers and carrying away their wives. In a few locations, the Ironborn were attempting to hold territory.

And with most of his troops in the Westerlands, there was very little he could do about it. "Father should have executed him right there and then. . ." He muttered. When he marched to the Iron Islands, Robb refused to repeat that mistake. Balon spat on their mercy.

Terrible as it was, though, he had to focus on one war at a time. The Mormonts and others were already mobilizing their remaining forces in the North to deal with them. _But we can't just leave our people to their fate. _Even if it took time, Robb swore the Greyjoys would answer for their act of aggression.

_Theon! _He was Robb's brother no less than any other member of his family, but he was still a Greyjoy. Theon was a hostage for his father's good behavior, a decision that Balon had violated.

"Found the Kraken hiding with a pair of whores, Your Grace," The Greatjon announced, carrying Theon with one arm. He struggled, punching every part of the Greatjon he could hit, but the giant took no notice of his efforts.

"Thank you; I wish not to be disturbed," Robb ordered, uncertain of what he was going to do. Killing a man he considered a brother. . . _How can this possibly be honorable?_

Theon stood tall, trying to appear brave while trembling inside. "Are you going to kill me, Robb?" His voice lacked its usual sarcastic humor.

"Your father chose to stab me in the back," Robb spoke coldly, hand on his sword. "I offered an alliance, even additional territory, and he spat in my face."

"I thought I was your brother, Robb," Theon snapped, eyes wide with desperation. He knew there was no escape should Robb decide to execute him. "You swore that to me!"

"And you swore it to me, Theon," Robb reminded. "Evidently, your father doesn't care what happens to you so long as he harms our cause. You're his only son; I would have expected he would at least want an heir to the Seastone Chair."

"Doesn't work that way," Theon pointed out despite his fear. His mind was spinning, hardly daring to believe his father cared so little about what happened to him.

"There can be only one punishment for betrayal," Robb unsheathed his sword. Theon involuntarily took a step back, reaching for a weapon he no longer possessed. It would be easy: a single thrust to the heart and it would be over.

"All the time we spent together meant nothing, did it?" Theon screamed. "I saved Bran's life! I fought alongside you in the Whispering Wood!"

"You did," Robb conceded, forcing back his emotions. "The penalty for betrayal is death. . ." He held the sword against Theon's neck, who was trembling but made no move to retreat. ". . . but your father was the one who betrayed me, not you."

"You're going to let me live?" Theon hardly dared to believe it.

"I'm not a kinslayer, Theon," Robb decided. There was still a small part of him who wanted to take his life, especially knowing how his bannermen were likely to react to his actions. "I could no sooner kill you than I could Jon or Bran."

Theon smiled despite the situation. "You know, that still doesn't mean you should have interrupted my private time." He turned to his usual japes. "I was just about to talk a couple of village girls into a threesome."

"Yes, yes, they're falling all over you," Robb shook his head. Even after being threatened with death, he was the same old Theon.

"I really did think you were going to kill me for a moment," Theon admitted. "Even after everything."

"Balon will be executed, not you," Robb decided, then forcing a smile on his face. "Besides. . .when I take the Iron Throne, I'm going to need a Master of Ships."

"You mean to go through with this?" Theon was delighted at the idea of being given such a high position.

"I never wanted a throne, only my sisters returned to me," Robb paced around, feeling the burden placed on his shoulders. "But they crowned me and now there is no turning back. My father died in the Capital and Sansa is still held there. Thank the Gods Arya managed to escape." Looking back, his sister's flight didn't surprise him much.

"If anyone deserves the Iron Throne, it's you," Theon placed a hand on Robb's shoulder. "I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, that I will fight by your side until the end."

Robb knew his bannermen would be unhappy about him sparing Theon's life, but it didn't matter. He would not kill his brother.

_Tywin's refusing to take the bait. _Robb ran his fingers over the map. He didn't know if the man had been warned or was simply too smart to fall for the trap. Either way, he was forced to readjust.

They would move towards Harrenhal and besiege it. Robb didn't have a hope of storming such a massive castle despite the damage it had taken centuries prior, but it didn't matter. With Tywin trapped, Renly was free to take King's Landing. Both sides would weaken each other enough for him to take the Capital later.

And with the Vale soon to join his cause, he would possess an army almost equivalent to Renly's full strength. Robb let out a heavy sigh. He hadn't asked to be crowned, but the idea didn't bother him as it once did. He gave a silent prayer to the Old Gods that he would rule with wisdom when the Iron Throne was taken.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I think we'll be able to pull this off," Matthew announced with increasing confidence in their defenses. True, he was heavily outnumbered, but city walls provided an enormous defensive advantage. Renly would have to storm King's Landing if he wished to seize the Iron Throne.

"And you're not in the least concerned about the message preparing for battle inside the city sends to our troops?" Tyrion worried, riding beside him. Joffrey's reflexes, at least, allowed him to swiftly adjust to the realities of horseback riding.

"I fought in my share of cities," Matthew responded, making sure his Kingsguard didn't overhear them. He never went anywhere without his procession now, or his set of plate armor. "They can be death traps for attacking forces if you know how to use them."

On each of the seven gates of King's Landing, Matthew fortified both sides with wooden spikes. With multiple layers, it would force Renly's forces into a narrow corridor, rushing into a prepared formation of pikemen.

Archers would pepper enemy troops from both sides, with rocks being dropped from the city walls. Smallfolk near the gates had been instructed accordingly. Matthew found it took little effort to convince them, as everyone knew they would be corpses should the gates be breached.

Building such fortifications took only a couple of days, with the final portion to be added once Renly arrived. Until that time, Matthew intended to allow food to enter the city as long as feasible. It was entirely possible that unlike Stannis, he'd opt for a simple siege instead.

"I trust you're smart enough to stay out of the fighting, at least unless there's no other option," Tyrion remarked as they toured the city.

"I've learned my lesson on that. Is your chain completed?"

"Yes, we'll be able to trap Renly's entire fleet in the river, provided of course he takes the bait. Are you certain he will?"

"Stannis' forces did, and he was a much more experienced commander. Renly's charming, but he's much more flash than substance. Anything can go wrong, of course. However, I've still got a few surprises in store for him."

Matthew ordered some of the wildfire to be used above the city gates, although only by the most experienced Gold Cloaks. He was counting on the psychological effect of wildfire more than its physical properties. If those using the battering rams were burned, it would have a severe effect on enemy morale.

_It'd be nice if I had more cannons, _Matthew sighed. Only seven were completed and the last one was built in such haste he wasn't sure if it could stand up to battlefield conditions. The four brought over from Braavos were set up behind two of the gates. As he considered them more likely to blow up than be of any battlefield use, Matthew kept them as a last resort.

"His ships don't outnumber ours by that much," Matthew pointed out. "If they're occupied or crippled, he'll have to cross the river the hard way. We can cut them to pieces peacemeal."

"Have you spoken to Cersei about these plans?"

"Would you want her in charge of them?" Matthew had already been forced to intervene, saving King's Landing from her stupidity. "We've got something like 11,000 jars of wildfire, so as long as we don't burn our own city down, we should be able to weather the storm."

The smallfolk watched Matthew with dread. After his punishment for the rioters, none of them had any intention of defying him again. _Once food shipments return to the city, then perhaps my efforts for good publicity will prove more fruitful. _

Matthew only had a day, perhaps two, before Renly's host was upon him. At least according to Varys, they were overconfident of victory. He knew better than to trust the Spider's words, but it did fit with what he knew of Renly's character.

_Amphibious landings are among the most difficult to accomplish. The nearest crossing is dozens of leagues away. Some of their arrows may cross the river, but they don't possess any siege engines. Only battering rams, which never ceases to astonish me. _

"Are your men ready?" Matthew asked of Jacelyn Bywater when he was spotted.

"As ready as they're going to be," Bywater responded. "With all due respect, Your Grace, I'm not sure how effective your plans for fighting within the city are going to be. Some worry you're expecting to lose."

"Best to prepare for everything," Matthew reminded. "Remind the troops that they aren't just fighting for me. If those gates are breached, their wives and children will be in danger as well."

"Yes, Your Grace. I have heard rumors about new weapons, ones that can fire iron balls hundreds of meters."

"I'd best not say anything about that," Matthew knew the rumors, but wasn't about to confirm them. Let Renly think victory was certain.

"Understood, Your Grace," Bywater gave a knowing smile.

"Have all the Gold Cloaks and smallfolk been made aware of the additional rewards?" Matthew had offered one silver stag for each enemy head or scalp his forces took. It'd likely prove to be expensive, not to mention the danger of fraud, but winning the battle took priority.

"My men are eager to collect."

"Good; I'm hoping their greed can override their fear. This bonus is available to any resident of this city who can collect it. Should the gates be breached, I'm hoping for hordes of greedy men and women to face the enemy. Have those who live closest to the gates been made aware of my orders?"

"Yes, Your Grace, and I took the liberty of supplying them with rocks and knives."

"Make it clear to them defying my orders will result in execution. I'm done being soft. This city will be a death trap for Renly, even under the unlikely scenario the gates are breached."

"I already have, Your Grace. Everyone inside the city knows the stakes. Many still remember the Sack of King's Landing your grandfather was responsible for."

"All the more reason to worry about traitors. If there is anything else I need to concern myself with, let me know." Matthew walked off alongside Tyrion and his Kingsguard.

Both the insides and outsides of the gates were barricaded by wooden spikes. Matthew didn't expect it to hold indefinitely, but Renly's host would be forced to try and tear through it while being pummeled by rocks, arrows, and wildfire.

"When will that chain be ready?" Matthew demanded of Tyrion. "If we trap them, this battle will be ours."

"Not in time," Tyrion shook his head. "It'll take a week to finish it and Renly will be here before then."

"Why am I not surprised?" Matthew complained. Every time he thought things couldn't get worse, life found a way to prove him wrong. _Maybe I should have spared Littlefinger's life. _Baelish and the Tyrells were responsible for killing Joffrey, but they managed to save King's Landing before that happened. _Can't believe behaving like the canon Joffrey would have been the smarter tactic. _

He galloped towards the harbor, knowing that one last tactic was necessary to hinder the enemy. Even if Matthew couldn't rely on the chain, he was positive this would at least slow Renly down.

King's Landing's harbor was bustling, with most smallfolk kept away from the premises. Half the Royal Navy had already departed, ready to meet Renly the instant he arrived.

"I trust everyone is taking the necessary precautions," Matthew instructed, seeing wildfire carefully loaded into the rowboats and skiffs. "Wildfire is not a pleasant way to die."

"I have made sure of this, Your Grace," The man bowed, showing Matthew respect but not fear.

"Have some decoys out as well," Matthew pointed to the barrels. Several were being carefully loaded with wildfire, the intent being to send them downriver, crashing into Renly's fire. Wildfire was volatile enough to where even a small amount could cause an enormous inferno. "I want to make Renly so paranoid that nobody's willing to cross that river."

_We've got ten thousand jars of wildfire; best make maximum use of them. _The barrels were weighed carefully, ensure they were not too heavy to float. Work proceeded slowly, as mere rumors of wildfire's capability were enough to strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest men.

Bravest of all were those in Blackwater Bay rowing up the river. He kept the second half of his fleet well away from the barrels, intending to lure Renly into a trap. Sadly, Matthew couldn't count on his enemy blundering the way the canon battle went.

"Your Grace. . . some fear handling the wildfire," The man admitted, looking around. "They say any punishment is preferable to the substance touching them."

_"Tell them you'll bathe their wives and children in it if they don't obey!" _Matthew heard a voice scream, making him jump. It came from his brain, but it didn't have his voice. Out loud, he spoke: "Remind them their families and comrades are counting on them. Renly's men will slaughter them all if the walls are breached."

"Yes, Your Grace," The man bowed. Matthew looked out over the river, where he could just barely see the part of his fleet waiting for his orders. He expected the commander of Renly's naval forces to be an experienced sailor.

_If the ships are destroyed, it won't matter how many troops he has. _The nearest bridge was a dozen leagues from the city, delaying his enemy by at least a week should they be forced to use it. _And it'll be another method of stalling Renly; sort of like Thermopylae_

"Renly will send his forces to the mud gate; I'm certain of it," Tyrion informed. "It's the weakest gate of the seven."

"I know Stannis realizes that, but does Renly? I never got the impression he took his duties very seriously."

"If not him, then one of his subordinates. Randall Tarly will definitely know. He's the best commander Renly has following him."

"Point taken," Matthew conceded. Renly wasn't very competent, but some of those following him were. "We also have to make sure they don't bribe any of the guards to open the gates for him." It wasn't mentioned in the books, but Matthew knew it was a historical danger during a siege. There were greedy men and starving men, both of whom were a danger to him.

_He's going to have to storm the castle. _Matthew hadn't heard too much about Tyrion's Hill Tribes raiding their supply lines, but knew there were confirmed reports of it. Such a massive army was intimidating but also a major drain on logistics, particularly medieval logistics.

Matthew, Tyrion, and Bronn entered the Small Council chambers to discuss their final preparations. "Your Grace, the Gold Cloaks and my fellow cutthroats have rounded up all the known thieves in the city," Bronn announced, giving a mock bow.

"At least we won't have to worry about them trying to steal the food doing a siege," Matthew responded. Killing wasn't something he enjoyed, but it was too big of a risk to ignore. "So how many unknown thieves do we have left?"

"A fair number, but the message has been sent,"

"Without the chain, it's going to be difficult to defeat Renly's fleet," Tyrion expressed concern.

"He has only moderate naval superiority, one easily thrown away when taking into account our wildfire," Matthew grinned. "If it comes to a siege, we need to keep the sea lanes open. We'll last long enough for a relief force. . . or for famine to start hitting Renly's army."

They continued to debate on whether to attempt hindering their crossing on the river, or stay behind the city walls and force Renly's host to attack them. Matthew argued hard for the latter, recognizing the limited training of the Gold Cloaks.

"If we don't stop them at the river, we won't stop them at all," Bronn argued. "They get a foothold, everyone inside the city will start shitting themselves. You don't have many real soldiers, which means they'll panic, flee, maybe even turn on you."

"All right, but if they get a secure toehold, I'm giving the order to retreat," Matthew agreed. _If I had a few more real fighters, this would be easier, but I don't. _"I'm not going to waste my men's lives, especially since we don't have that many to waste. Uncle, how long do you expect them to last if indeed they choose a siege?"

"Difficult to say; it depends on how successful the Vale tribes are at destroying their food supplies."

"Well, for that, all we need is twenty good men," Matthew quipped. Bronn and Tyrion gave him an incredulous look. "Never mind, that'll teach me to try and be funny. Anyway, many of the Storm Lords aren't supporting him, so he'll need to get most of it from the Reach. 60,000 men aren't easy to supply."

"Neither is half a million, as I'm sure you found out," Bronn reminded him.

"But I'm expecting him to storm the castle, suicidal as it might be. Anyone who holds King's Landing is seen as the rightful heir. Of course. . . maybe there's a way to avoid the battle entirely."

"I hope you're not planning on surrendering," Tyrion warned. "Renly's liable to kill us all anyway."

"No, I was thinking a surgical strike," Matthew rubbed his chin in thought. "Bronn, how would you like a lordship, a castle, and more gold than you've ever seen in your lifetime?"

"If you're asking me to kill your Uncle, you'd better offer a damned big castle," Bronn realized the implication instantly. "Lordship ain't enough for that kind of risk."

"How about a three thousand gold dragon down payment, with an additional seven thousand upon completing the task. As for a castle, that will depend on which enemy lord I choose to strip it from."

"Long as it's not fucking Harrenhal. I know better than to try and claim the place."

Matthew gave a small smile, knowing Bronn was at least intrigued by the idea. "There are many sellswords in Renly's army. Far as they're concerned, you're one of them; you'll blend in. However, I will require proof that Renly Baratheon is dead."

"You're more ruthless than I gave you credit for," Tyrion complimented. They shared a meaningful look, with Tyrion appreciating that his lessons were beginning to stick.

"I ain't exactly going to have time to stick around once I do it," Bronn pointed out.

"True, but I didn't get my position by being trusting. You have a chance to make your fortune and retire. And I'm still waiting for an answer."

Bronn stayed silent for close to a minute before he made up his mind. "Fine, but you better not double-cross me on this."

"The Iron Bank wouldn't be working with me if I was treacherous," With Bronn agreeing to Matthew's terms, he pulled out a hidden box of gold. Grunting from the effort, Matthew unfastened and opened it, revealing three thousand gold dragons. "Is that enough to prove my word is good?"

"You have yourself a deal," Bronn chuckled.

"Now this conversation never happened. Once you return, you will receive a Lordship for your bravery and valor in battle."

"Your Grace, on my honor, I don't have the slightest idea what you're referring to," Bronn raised his arm. Matthew chuckled in response, watching the sellsword get to his feet.

_When he returns, I'm going to make sure he's closely watched in case Bronn is turned. _The man had no loyalty, willing to serve whoever offered a larger paycheck. "Do you think he'll pull it off?" Tyrion questioned once Bronn departed.

"If anybody can do it, he can. I'm hoping Renly's death will at least demoralize their forces, even if it doesn't convince them to stop the attack." _Or provoke Loras into something stupid. _

Tyrion and Matthew went over the final plans before Varys cut in on their discussion, bowing to the guards outside. "I trust everything is in place, Your Grace?"

"Renly won't know what hit him. Damn fool fancies himself a King."

"I must say, quite an excellent stroke on your part to have him killed before the battle even commences," Varys smiled. "Killing one man to save thousands."

Matthew sighed to himself. Varys' real message was telling him he knew everything. "Not my preferred tactic, but it's the needs of the many I need to concern myself with."

"Few in your position would consider the needs of the many, Your Grace," Varys complimented.

"I think you've seen I don't resemble either my father or the Mad King. We've had enough monsters sitting the Iron Throne." Matthew didn't want to spend any more time than he had to talking to Varys. _Sadly, I don't have the kind of spy network I'd need to replace him. _

"Are you confident that such a tactic would work, Your Grace? Renly will be well protected."

"I'll do whatever I need to win. We've already had a riot due to the food prices and it's likely to get a lot worse. Do you have any useful information for me?"

"You might be interested in knowing that a handful of men have been caught planning to open the gates upon Lord Renly's arrival," Varys handed him a sheet of paper. "All of them Gold Cloaks."

_Damn! _Matthew looked it over, wondering why neither his nor Tyrion's spies located them. "Are these legitimate traitors?" He didn't put it past Varys to make things up.

"Your Grace, you wound me," Varys placed his hand against his heart in a mock-hurt gesture. "My only interest is to serve the realm. Yes, letters were found with detailed instructions."

"Give them to my mother; I'm sure she can come up with suitable punishment," Matthew instructed. "If Renly's commanders think the gates will be open for them when they arrive, they'll be overconfident. So I'm going to let them think the scheme is going as planned."

He knew what Cersei was likely to do. She was little loved, so Matthew hoped to balance being seen as benevolent with the necessary ruthlessness behind the scene. _Even Aegon V needed Bloodraven, or he would have been fighting and possibly being killed by Blackfyres. _Matthew would simply restrain Cersei when she moved too far out of line.

"So you don't intend to execute them, Your Grace?"

"Not yet; when the time is right, they will pay a price for their actions. Rumors will fly all over the city if something happens and Renly doubtless has spies in King's Landing, else this arrangement would not have been made."

"You are proving most capable, Your Grace. Your father's death was a tragedy, I know."

"Sad as it sounds, he would have wanted to die fighting," Matthew sighed. With the likes of Robert Baratheon, he didn't doubt that was true. "I can't behave like a brat anymore."

"Your Grace, there are those at court who remain unconvinced that your change in demeanor is the result of maturity," Varys admitted, taking a step back. Matthew scanned his face, seeing only artificial fear.

"They'll gossip about anything, since they've got nothing better to do. You'd think they would focus on the coming battle." Matthew suspected the only reason more hadn't figured out his secret was it being too impossible to believe.

"Thinking about trivial matters can be preferable to thinking about death, Your Grace."

"True, which is why I can't help but ask the question: what do you want?"

"Your Grace, what an unexpected. . ."

"Since we're playing games here, answer my question. What do you want?"

"There's nothing more I want, Your Grace." Varys shook his head with a small smile. "I am Master of Whispers, on the Small Council, with a roof over my head, and with the luxury of regular meals. What more could I ask for?"

"Everyone in King's Landing wants something," Matthew refuted. "Whether it be gold, glory, prestige, women. . . there's something we all want. Including the Iron Throne. You're no exception to the rule, Lord Varys. Now I ask you again: what do you want?"

"I wish to serve the realm," Varys stared at Matthew in a way that made him think he was looking into his very soul. "I came from nothing and I rose to the top. But I have not forgotten where I came from, those men and women forgotten by those above them."

"But it isn't easy to change things, is it?" Matthew knew it was exceedingly unlikely to persuade Varys to be loyal. But it would take a long time before he could rival, let alone supplant, his spy network. His knowledge of the books and show could no longer be relied upon. "I expect you understand this more than most."

"I am most impressed that you do, Your Grace. You've treated being King as a burden, not a license to do what you please."

_If only you knew. . . _On some days, Matthew found it exceedingly difficult to constrain his impulses. He could understand the smallfolk's riot despite his anger. When people were suffering, they wanted someone to blame. "Mercy will always be spat upon, a lesson I learned nearly too late. I don't intend to make that mistake again."

"When hungry and desperate, people want someone to blame. You can improve things, if that is your goal. But it will require patience. . . and the knowledge of when to use your ruthlessness."

"You say you serve the realm, but your job is to serve me," Matthew lowered his voice, testing Varys to see his response.

"By serving one, I serve the other, Your Grace. If I may ask, since, by your admission, we're playing a game, what do you want?"

_To go home, _If it was possible, Matthew would have happily returned home, and the plight of Westeros be damned. "My enemies defeated and begging for mercy; what else?" He flashed a grin. "My power secure, and my subjects obedient. What more would any King want?"

"Yet you risked feeding the people, an act no King has done since the days of Baelor the Blessed. Is that truly all you want, Your Grace?"

"Prosperity will benefit us all, lords and commoners. I am aware few give a thought to them, a reality I expect you encountered as a boy. But I'm curious: those who rise high in the world usually pretend their past never existed. If you put a common peasant on the Iron Throne, within a year, he would be more terrible than the rulers before him. How are you an exception?"

"You speak correctly, Your Grace. Most men I've seen from humble beginnings toss it aside when opportunity is spotted. Perhaps it's easier not to remember where they came from. I don't suppose I've ever told you how I was cut."

"No, you haven't," Matthew knew the story, but wasn't going to reveal that to him. He listened to Varys speak, learning a few details he had forgotten from the books.

"It would all too easy to forget my origins, Your Grace," Varys concluded. "But I swore to myself on the day I was cast out that I would not. The wheel turns, one tyrant is replaced by another, and nothing truly changes. I wish to serve the realm, even the lowest amongst them, not merely seize power for myself."

"Times like this, I wonder whether you're going to be my best friend or my worst enemy," Matthew chuckled, the conversation proving productive despite his dismal expectations.

"I thought the same of you when you first took the throne, I confess. But I have been pleasantly surprised." Matthew noted Varys did not claim to be loyal to him. "In many ways, in fact. Now I believe we have a battle to win." He departed without another word.

_The man's a zealot, _Matthew realized. The eunuch revealed a little more to him than he likely intended, the conversation proving fruitful. Varys was no schemer for the sake of power. He believed in his cause, and by extension, the likely fake Aegon Targaryen. He wanted to improve the lives of the common folk.

Which made him perhaps Matthew's most dangerous enemy of all. _I might just have to remove him, and the consequences be damned. Varys is just too dangerous to have alive, even if I do lose his spy network. Killing him out of hand would have drastic repercussions and undo everything I'm trying to accomplish. But Varys is likely to do that regardless. _

_ "Kill him now, or he'll betray you! Make him beg for death before you finish him! Traitor!" _Now Matthew was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the voice, but decided to focus on winning the battle against Renly before he dealt with it.

Trying to kill him discretely would be suicide; Varys had spies everywhere and could hide in the tunnels of the Red Keep. Despite Matthew's best efforts, he had yet to find a way inside them.

_And I have a war to win. I think it unlikely I'm going to survive this, but then, I thought that during my last war too. _Matthew headed to his chambers for perhaps the final time, making preparations for the battle.

His first action was reading Stannis' latest letter. Matthew looked through it carefully, occasionally muttering under his breath. It was little different than the previous ones. _Well, he only threatened to execute me once this time, so I think I'm making progress. _

That Stannis was still speaking with him, for all his bluster, told Matthew he was winning the man over. He wrote a quick response back, recommending that they begin mining dragonglass for the war to come. It likely wouldn't be for years, but as they were busy slaughtering each other, that wasn't much time.

Best of all, he didn't have to deal with Stannis' fleet in addition to Renly's. That would have doomed them all, no matter what he attempted.

Outnumbered as he was, Matthew felt confident that he would make it through the Blackwater at least. If Bronn succeeded in killing him, the battle would be his. If he didn't. . . well, he knew better than to put all his faith in a single plan.

Matthew left his chambers for what he knew might be the final time, intent on participating in the battle. Any order of Cersei's to bring him back to the Red Keep would be ignored. Within a day or two, he would know whether his efforts to change Westeros were possible or if it was a mere pipe dream.

Those inside the Red Keep skittered around, nobody vocalizing their fear, but it was there regardless. Ladies hugged and kissed their husbands, not knowing if they would ever see them again.

Outside the Red Keep, Gold Cloaks and mercenaries spent their last hours boozing and whoring, not knowing if they would have another chance. _Is there anything I overlooked in the city's defense? Anything at all? _

Matthew spent hours traveling through King's Landing, offering words of encouragement to the defenders as well as pointing out any weak spots he observed. King's Landing was as prepared as it was going to be.

The next afternoon, the bells throughout the city rang, informing Matthew he was out of time.

Renly had arrived.

XXXXXXXXX

He might be a little more ruthless than the canon version, but he's still the same Robb Stark. This might be a spoiler, but his decision to spare Theon will bite Robb in the ass.

Assuming Matthew's alive long enough to worry about it, anyway. I'm expecting the Battle of the Blackwater will take up the next two chapters. 


	11. Battle of the Blackwater

XXXXXXXXXX

Sansa had spent the morning praying alongside Jeyne ever since they learned battle was imminent. The sept had never been so full of people.

Wives and daughters saying good-bye to their husbands, knowing many of them would not return. Prayers for victory, prayers for their loved ones, even prayers for glory.

She spotted King Joffrey on a mount, surrounded by the surviving Kingsguard. Sansa felt a sudden rush of reassurance seeing him preparing himself for battle. With him, they would surely be victorious.

To his right was the Imp riding a pony, looking much less enthused. He took little notice of all the people saying their Good-byes. Meryn Trant looked ready to soil himself. Balon Swann and Barristan Selmy possessed determined faces, having faced many similar scenarios in the past.

Joffrey spotted her and turned his horse in Sansa's direction. "Lady Sansa, it's good to see you here," He smiled, opening his visor. "I trust my mother has invited you to where the other noble ladies are waiting."

"She has, Your Grace," Sansa blushed. "But I. . ." She looked over at Jeyne. "Jeyne has not been allowed and I do not wish to leave my friend alone."

"By order of the King, Lady Jeyne will be allowed to remain where it is safest," Joffrey declared. "Even my mother knows better than to refuse a direct order."

"You are most kind, Your Grace," Sansa smiled. She feared the worst for Jeyne. Evil men had already hurt her once and she'd learned enough to realize it could happen a second time.

Joffrey dismounted from his horse, looking Sansa in the eye. "There's also something else I need you to do when you're in the Red Keep. This is important, so. . . I want you to do everything in your power to keep the spirits of the other women up."

"I won't fail you, Your Grace," Sansa promised.

"I don't envy you having to endure my sweet sister's company," Tyrion interjected, giving her a respectful nod. "Regardless, it will still be preferable to being in the streets during the middle of the battle."

"I have every confidence in you, along with Tyrion. Uncle Renly appears powerful, but his strength is an illusion. Tyrion, despite his admittedly short appearance, has a brain that's worth any five of us."

"You're getting soft, nephew," Tyrion japed.

"Perhaps, but my words are true. However, we do need to keep our morale up, lest all our preparations be for nothing. Although you do not carry a sword in your hand, your role is no less vital, Lady Sansa."

Sansa responded by kissing him, despite no longer being betrothed to Joffrey. She held her lips on him for several seconds before he gently ended things. "Thank you for your concern, Lady Sansa." He gave out a slight chuckle, looking embarrassed. "I almost forgot: you might be needing this."

Joffrey handed Sansa a dagger with a jewel-covered hilt from his armor, presenting it to her and nodding. "Keep this close to you, just in case the worst happens."

"He means if you end up being raped," Jeyne spoke bluntly. Even after so much time, Sansa had difficulty adjusting to the real world.

"Yes," Joffrey coughed, having preferred to mention it in more diplomatic terms. "I'm confident in my men, but no plan survives contact with the enemy. Keep it close to you, hide it against your leg. . . better to have and not need it than need it and not have it."

"However touching the sentiment is, we do have a battle to win," Tyrion reminded.

"May the Gods have mercy on us all," Sansa whispered.

"Gods are seldom merciful, as I'm sure you've found," Joffrey sighed. "Now go meet my mother and work towards keeping the women and children calm. No doubt they're just as frightened as my men, and without the ability to change what happens."

Joffrey, Tyrion, and the Kingsguard departed, leaving Sansa and Jeyne by themselves. As ordered, they journeyed to the Red Keep, listening to the constant prayers around them.

"I wish I had one of those when I was taken," Jeyne remarked. "Gods, I'd like to have one now."

"Nothing's going to happen to us," Sansa promised, but kept the knife close at hand. Jeyne's experience warned her that many were not true knights, but brutes who wore armor.

The drawbridge was raised, leaving the commoners to fend for themselves should the city fall. Sansa felt a slight amount of guilt, but mostly relief for not being in their position.

_Joffrey won't let anything happen to them, _Sansa justified. He'd already done more for them than anything else, despite their lack of gratitude. He was a living example of a true knight.

The Queen's Ballroom was barely a tenth the size of the great hall, but hundreds of people were still packed inside. The torches burned twice as bright as they did anywhere else, allowing Sansa and Jeyne to maneuver through the frightened crowd.

A couple dozen guards could be seen wearing Lannister colors, but in truth, they were merely sellswords. The way Sansa spotted one of them staring at her and Jeyne made her devoutly grateful she possessed her dagger.

In the center of it all was Cersei, seemingly paying little attention to her surroundings. A wine cup in one hand, she held a falsely confident smile.

_And this is to be my good-mother, _Sansa gave a mental shudder. Much as she loved Joffrey, she could not manage such a decent man being raised by a woman like her.

"Be welcome, Lady Sansa," Cersei mocked. She pointed to Jeyne and declared. "She, however, will be seated at the table, near all the boys too young to fight. I won't permit a defiled woman near me."

Sansa spoke up to protest, but Jeyne responded: "As you wish, my Queen." She shrugged, having expected nothing else.

"Is your red flower still blooming, Sansa?" Cersei inquired, finishing off her glass of wine and pouring a second one.

"Why is Ser Ilyn here?" Sansa pointed to the King's Justice.

"I'm likely to have need of him before the night's out. Tell me, do you know what happens when a city is sacked? No, I expect you don't; they don't talk about that in the songs."

Sansa tried to tune her out, but Cersei's words spoke to her greatest fears. The queen was terrified, for all her attempts at appearing otherwise. Jesters told jokes and provided entertainment to distract them, but no one could stop themselves from wondering if they would survive the night.

Remembering Joffrey's words, Sansa approached a group of young women, intended to give them what support she could.

XXXXXXXXXX

"As I have said numerous times, Your Grace, a siege would be the most victorious method," Randall Tarly suggested. "Our host is too strong for them to fight on the field, or for Tywin Lannister to relieve them in time. Already the city has had food riots. Within a few weeks, our enemies will be forced to surrender or be torn apart by mobs of starving smallfolk. Even with the Imp's savages hitting our supply lines, what we have should last that long."

"I don't think we're going to have to wait that long," Renly dismissed with a laugh. "I have all the power of Highgarden behind me, and all the bastard possesses is a barely-trained town guard who will turn on him the moment things look hopeless."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Tarly conceded, but he was not convinced.

Loras Tyrell was no less confident of victory. He had dreamed of battle since he was a young child and now the moment was upon him. Even with city walls, victory was close at hand. He knew he was the greatest swordsman in Westeros, save for his older brother Garlan, who was bringing up the rear.

Riding alongside Loras Baratheon, they were less than a league away from King's Landing. Loras looked around on all sides, seeing more than 60,000 bannermen, smallfolk, and sellswords assembled for the battle.

"The city and the Iron Throne will be yours by nightfall, Your Grace," Loras promised, giving Renly a lovestruck look that he hoped nobody else noticed.

"I have every confidence in your abilities, Ser Loras," Renly laughed. "As I do yours, Lord Tarly. There's little to worry about, not when facing so little opposition."

The plan was simple: Imry Florent's navy would seize control of Blackwater Bay. Their ships would allow the infantry to cross, while the Gold Cloaks they bribed to open the gates would kill their comrades, allowing them to seize the city and the Iron Throne with minimal bloodshed.

Even among Tyrell bannermen, Loras could not openly show true affection for his love. Westeros would never accept their union, although he was certain his father's closest bannermen already knew. Rumors of their love had convinced many of the storm lords to turn their backs on Renly.

By Renly's side rode his wife and Loras' sister, Margaery. She wore a polite smile, revealing no fear, but Loras knew his sister well enough to see the unease beneath the mask.

In an aside to Renly, Loras whispered: "Do you really think it was a good idea to bring her along?" However much he loved Renly, he did not wish to see his sister in danger.

"You don't need to worry about her safety," Renly japed. This was one thing Loras did find infuriating about the man; belief in his own invincibility. "Lady Margaery insisted on coming along, and I've never been able to refuse a beautiful woman anything." He spoke the last words for the benefit of whoever might be listening in.

Renly's Rainbow Guard surrounded him, including Brienne of Tarth. Loras hid his scowl at the thought of the woman joining his love. Her feelings for him were plain to see. He'd been relieved to discover Renly considered Brienne disgusting in private, but recognized her worth as a warrior.

_It's long past time we had a King worthy of the Iron Throne. _This time, Loras did not hide his admiration for Renly. His entire life, Westeros was ruled by either a monster born of incest, or a drunken King with no interest in running the realm. Before him was Aerys the Mad.

He would help Renly gain the Iron Throne, and Margaery would help him keep it. Although his King was in love with him, Loras was certain he would be able to sire an heir given the proper motivation.

It didn't matter to Loras Renly was the younger brother. He was far more suitable to the Throne than Stannis, who had so far refused to leave Dragonstone. Rumors persisted that he was considering supporting Joffrey despite being an abomination, but Loras dismissed them. Even Stannis was not so mad.

The walls of King's Landing had been strengthened, with trebuchets becoming visible as they moved closer. Imry Florent's first ships entered Blackwater Bay, the sails removed to prevent enemy defenses from crippling them.

Sounds in the distance informed him the enemy fleet had been located and was being engaged. Loras didn't expect there to be much difficulty. Victory would have been certain had the Redwynes chose to join Renly's case, but they remained stubbornly neutral despite possessing the greatest navy of any individual house in the Seven Kingdoms.

Despite everything, Loras found himself afraid. Victory was inevitable, but he still did not wish his sister to be present on the front lines. Margaery had no such desire, either, but having her leave would have devastated the men's morale.

Renly and his Rainbow Guard halted just fifty yards away from the river. Rowboats were brought in case the worst happened and the fleet was destroyed, but it was an extremely risky tactic.

Loras observed the preparations the city had made in anticipation of a siege. The walls were strengthened and his eyes were sharp enough to make out numerous trebuchets and scorpion, along with something new he couldn't recognize.

The river was only 200 meters wide at its narrowest point, although still a sufficient distance to protect them from enemy bolts. Loras didn't think Renly's plans to open the gates would work, meaning they would have to do things the hard way.

XXXXXXXXXX

Matthew observed his outnumbered fleet engage Imry Florent's, with arrows and scorpion bolts being exchanged. He gripped the stone walls tightly, forced to rely on his men rather than his own instincts.

_He would have suspected a trap if I didn't risk at least part of my fleet. _Matthew justified. Even from his vantage, he could hear the screams of rage and pain.

Forty ships facing eighty. Not the odds he preferred, but at least Renly's relatively small navy was his Achilles' Heel. Matthew gave a small smile seeing a few of his ships crippled.

He extended his hand, nonverbally ordering his troops to hold fire with the cannons. Based on his tests, Matthew was reasonably sure they could have fired far enough to hit Renly's forces waiting across the river, but didn't intend to reveal his trump card until the crucial moment.

The afternoon sun threatened to blind him, forcing Matthew to use his arm as a visor. Tyrion had to all but stand on his tiptoes to spot what was going on.

Renly's forces were seen in the distance, waiting for the ships to allow them to cross the river. Matthew's eyes widened at the size of the host facing them. Walls and the river gave him significant advantages, but he was still massively outnumbered.

It would be all down to this moment. If anything went wrong, all his careful planning would be for nothing. "Why were you so insistent on splitting your fleet, nephew?" Tyrion inquired.

"They weren't supposed to be engaging," Matthew groaned, cursing the stupidity of his subordinates. It was meant to be a token fight only, lasting a few minutes before they retreated, convincing the enemy victory was at hand. He didn't expect Imry to pursue, instead either deciding they weren't a threat or fearing a trap.

_No plan survives contact with the enemy, _Matthew reminded himself. And he had to admit, his subordinates were doing better than he'd initially anticipated. Several of Renly's ships had already been crippled and left adrift, in exchange for perhaps three of his.

If he possessed a radio, Matthew would have ordered them to retreat, but he was instead forced to rely on primitive technology. He didn't even have a telescope that would allow him a clear visual of how the naval battle was progressing.

A few scorpions were launched against his orders out of panic, making Matthew curse. He turned to Bywater and reminded: "My orders are clear: hold fire until they begin crossing the river." At least those operating his cannons held more discipline.

"I will remind them, Your Grace," Jacelyn nodded, rushing off to carry out his instructions.

In the distance, Matthew's fleet began to retreat, rowing back at full speed. Crippled ships were left behind, to be either destroyed by the enemy or ignored in favor of more rewarding targets.

He could distantly make out flames on some of the ships, both his and Renly's. The admiral had done his job and harmed the enemy enough to make the enemy believe this was his defensive plan.

It was difficult to distinguish between friendly and enemy ships, although as the two fleets separated, it became easier to make them out. Irmy Florent chose to ignore the crippled ships, deciding that they would be no threat to the war effort.

"Don't put the barrels and rowboats into the water until all the enemy ships are in the river," Matthew instructed. "We're only going to get one chance at this." It would have been easier with a chain, but at a minimum, it would hamper Renly's fleet.

The fleet rowed into the river, with no visible sails on the mast. Had Imry used them, it would have much easier to cripple the enemy vessels using trebuchets. Fortunately, he chose to enter the river rather than pursue and destroy the smaller fleet.

_If he'd done that, we'd probably be screwed in the long run. _Matthew was counting on his experience to see such a retreat as a trap. It would allow him a small number of ships to keep the city open during a siege.

As the ships moved closer, their numbers became easier to make out. Sixty-six ships, including thirty carrying two hundred oarsmen, rowed into the bay. _Assuming a count of eighty, we've already done a decent amount of damage to them. _

Matthew's heart threatened to rip out of his chest, waiting for the perfect moment to launch the barrels. The current would carry them down to the unaware vessels, turning them into giant infernos.

"Launch the barrels, launch the rowboats," Matthew finally decided the time had come, slapping a subordinate on the shoulder. "Tell them to get their asses moving."

"Don't you think it's a bit early to spring your trap, nephew?" Tyrion cautioned. "I believe our enemy thinks something is up."

"Won't do him any good," Matthew dismissed, seeing a few of the enemy ships waiting at the mouth of the bay in case his retreating fleet attempted a counterattack.

Hundreds of barrels, thousands of pots of wildfire. Matthew knew not all or even most would hit their targets, but he hoped it would do damage through the sheer quantity alone.

The enemy ships began separating, several of them moving towards the opposite shore to pick up enemy soldiers and bring them across. Neither barrels nor rowboats were visible from such a distance, meaning the first sign of their effectiveness would be eruptions of flame.

Matthew received such a sign a few minutes later, witnessing two of Renly's vessels impacted by wildfire. The effects were immediately, the entire bows of the ships turning into an inferno. The crews desperately tried to put the flames out, to no avail.

More ships soon suffered the same fate and realized they were under attack. The fleet separated, attempting to make itself a smaller target, disrupting its previous formation.

Orange and red flames lit up the afternoon sky and Matthew could not help but feel sympathetic to the men down below. Hundreds, perhaps thousands would burn to death, and all at his design.

Cheers from his men erupted with each ship being impacted by wildfire. They raised their swords and spears, screaming taunts despite the fact the enemy was far too distant to hear them.

Matthew listened to the screams down in the bay, wincing even though he knew it was necessary. In the midst of the flames, it was extremely difficult to make out individual men attempting to straggle onto shore. Even more were being swept underneath by the current.

Not all of Renly's fleet was so affected. Other ships succeeded in evading the barrels, although rowboats carried enough wildfire to obliterate any vessel unfortunate enough to run into them.

He estimated at least half of Renly's fleet were goners, perhaps even more. Some barrels drifted harmlessly out to sea, where they could prove a potential obstacle for his own allies. Three of the ships the enemy Admiral left to cover the entrance of the bay were similarly hit.

Witnessing the flames threatened to blind Matthew, forcing him to lower his visor to drown it out. Plumes of fire flew out as high as fifty feet, puddles of wildfire burning on the water, consuming any sailor unfortunate enough to swim near them.

It made it impossible to see how the battle was otherwise progressing. Matthew's fleet was largely spared, but the majority of Renly's was now either finished or dying.

_It's your own damned fault, you ambitious son of a bitch. _Matthew cursed Renly for forcing such a bloody battle upon him. Part of him grinned at the idea of seeing the look on Renly's face when he saw his ambitions in ruins, but most of him was somber.

_"That'll teach that traitorous battle to defy us! A message to all our enemies!" _Matthew shook his head, forcing himself to ignore the voice. He didn't have time to deal with the possibilities right now.

"I told you: the battle will be ours!" Matthew screamed for the benefit of his men. Their morale was high, seeing most of Renly's ships gone.

However, approximately twenty had survived the onslaught and were regrouping. Sailors were pulled out of the water when feasible, coughing and choking.

Through the flames, Matthew spotted the second half of his fleet moving to engage, with the intent to wipe out any rowboats that struggled to get ashore. "I must admit, I had a few doubts about your plan, but Renly isn't going to easily get across the river now." Tyrion spoke.

_Long as the men feel hopeful, we'll win this battle. _Several of the destroyed enemy ships turned to their sides, providing a natural barrier for his own fleet. They covered almost the entire bay, with only minimal gaps for the ships to get through.

And no seasoned sailor would take the risk, not with the probability of burning to death themselves. _This could pose a problem. _

XXXXXXXXXX

Loras felt ready to vomit at the scent of burning flesh. All his previous confidence had been shattered, watching so much of their fleet wiped out without even a chance to defend themselves.

"Bastards!" Renly swore, open-mouthed in horror.

"Your Grace. . . we need to get my sister away from the battlefield," Loras spoke slowly as to not reveal the extent of his horror. He wasn't going to allow Margaery to face such danger.

Renly was too shocked to argue. "Yes, we can keep her safe until after the victory."

_What kind of victory are we going to have now? _Loras couldn't help but ask himself. If not for the fact the burning ships provided an obstacle to Joffrey's forces as well, they would be well and truly fucked.

Their men lowered their swords, mesmerized by the flames. They looked at each other, some of whom were on the verge of fleeing.

"This fight isn't over yet!" Renly exclaimed, getting everyone's attention. "We still have ships and the dwarf has played his little trick! He can only play it once. Their fleets are trapped and we still have enough vessels of our own to make it across. I swear, by the old Gods and the New, that I will be the first one on shore and the last one to leave! Come with me and kill these bastards!"

Loras had to admit, Renly had a gift for speeches. Seeing him willing to fight alongside them gave men the courage to continue on.

Along with the rest of the Rainbow Guard, Loras surrounded Renly, refusing to allow him to face any unnecessary danger. Rowboats were prepared and what remained of the fleet prepared to take on passengers.

Only seventeen ships. Far fewer than Loras hoped for, but it would have to be enough. The bay was almost completely sealed off now, almost providing a walkway for them to cross should it prove necessary.

However, their first priority was saving whatever men they could. Most of those who straggled on shore were weak and shaking, having lost whatever weapons they carried in their haste to survive.

"I will see to the survivors, Your Grace," Randall declared. "After a brief rest, they will be prepared to join the second wave of attack."

At least a couple thousand were dead, exchanged for few to none of Joffrey's forces. Loras cursed himself for thinking this would be easy.

The next phase would take time. The men would have to recover from seeing so many burned alive and more dragged underneath the waves.

Enemy trebuchets flung stones into the river, aiming for the remaining ships. Only a handful managed to hit their target and those that did caused only limited damage.

Rowboats were brought to the front, Renly preparing a mass assault. Despite pleas from both Loras and Randall, he insisted on fighting at the front. "Are you sure about this?" Loras whispered. No matter what, he would fight by his King's side.

"I have to make sure they follow me," Renly argued, looking uncertain for the first time. Their boats would not be the first across, allowing the frontline troops to establish a secure foothold before their King joined the field.

Flames in the river slowly died down. Even wildfire did not burn forever and once it subsided, their travel would be clear. Trebuchets were still a danger, but Loras would vastly prefer to face them than the wildfire.

Renly rode from one side of the line to the other, encouraging his soldiers to fight on. Loras and the rest of his guards remained silent, lowering their visors to hide any private doubts they might have possessed.

As the recovering men marched into the remaining ships, and the first of the rowboats were launched, Loras spotted enormous splashes in the river, some of the water going as high as forty feet. He knew no trebuchet possessed that kind of ability.

It wasn't until he saw the wood splitting apart on the vessels, more men being torn to pieces, that he realized Joffrey had not yet pulled out all his cards.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Aim for the ships! Tear them apart!" Matthew ordered, revealing the cannons at last. They were of limited use hitting enemies across the river, but when crossing, the ships would prove little more than a sitting duck.

_Would be easier if I had more cannons. _Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time to mass produce them, not when they were completely new to Westeros. Nor was he entirely confident they would work the way he hoped.

Renly's remaining vessels moved across the river, as did a swarm of rowboats. "Send the knights out there immediately; we can't allow them to get onshore!" Tyrion ordered.

Already Gold Cloaks and knights led by Sandor Clegane charged out to slaughter any enemy forces that made it across the river. A cannonball took out one of the rowboats, killing all its occupants. Near misses by trebuchets caused more boats to capsize.

Matthew opened his mouth to shut an order to use the scorpions but the four-foot bolts were already being launched, aimed at center mass. Most fell harmlessly into the river, only a handful succeeding in doing any damage.

_Morale's already starting to sink. _Matthew worried. If the men broke and started running, they would never stop, for all the encouragement he attempted to give them. The battle needed to stay smooth from start to finish.

Yet the first of the boats were already landing on shore. Matthew could only just make out his soldiers rushing to intercept them, Sandor slaughtering each one whether they were armored or not.

But for each boat intercepted, two more succeeded in landing. His cannons were focused on the larger ships, cutting down every man on the deck. Matthew would have given anything for a few canisters of grapeshot.

Upon moving to the other side, more of the larger vessels were crippled, but not before they succeeded in dropping troops near the river. Matthew shouted orders, demanding the enemy be intercepted, although the time it took to carry out his orders hampered him.

Those fighting outside the walls, while they succeeded in slowing Renly down, were slowly being overwhelmed. Screams and war cries echoed in Matthew's ears, causing him to grip the walls tightly.

More of Renly's men landed on the opposite side of the city, charging forward with little opposition. One of the gold cloaks rushed to Matthew and warned that battering rams were being deployed.

_Shit! _Matthew swore to himself. If he remembered correctly, it was the Mud Gate, the weakest of the seven entrances inside the city. He'd placed pots of wildfire immediately above the gates, but there was no guarantee those manning the catapults wouldn't just burn themselves alive.

He could no longer count on assassinating Renly to end the battle and at this point, it didn't seem very likely anyway. "I'm going out there myself," Matthew declared, hardly believing those words came out of his mouth.

Tyrion looked at him with horror, shaking his head. "Your Grace. . . we can't risk your life, certainly not so early into the battle."

"They've got battering rams ready!" Matthew insisted, hiding his fear. His skill was still marginal, but ready or not, he was forced to fight. He looked around at his Kingsguard and declared: "Make sure everyone around us sees the King's banner." A risk, but his men needed the inspiration.

Wounded and frightened, those still fighting outside began to withdraw. Sandor held the rear, him and the few experienced knights covering the rear to ensure Renly could not rush the gates.

Matthew mounted his horse and galloped down to the Mud Gate, where nearly two hundred gold cloaks and mercenaries were awaiting him. Most were barely holding onto their weapons, their hopeless eyes staring at the gates. Above them, smallfolk were ready to rain hell on anyone who broke into King's Landing.

"I know what I'm asking of all of you!" Matthew proclaimed, attempting a speech. "But remember: you're not fighting for me. You're not fighting for glory or riches! Fight for those depending on you! Your wives, your children, your city! Follow me and kill these bastards!"

Not everyone was convinced, but nobody wished to look weak in front of the King. Barristan whispered in his ear: "An excellent motivating speech, Your Grace."

"Thank you," Matthew acknowledged with a nod. This wasn't his first experience with combat, far from it, but it was the first time he'd fought in such a style.

_You'll survive. You've got the best armor available and the Kingsguard to protect you. _Those who possessed horses climbed onto them, steeling themselves for the inevitable.

"Keep the wildfire as a last resort," Matthew gave one final order, although he expected it would indeed come to that.

Feeling ready to soil himself, Matthew and the Kingsguard charged forward the instant the gates were open. Being surrounded, he could only just make out the situation outside.

Those carrying the battering rams and the turtles to protect them from incoming projectiles were caught off-guard, allowing Matthew's forces to ride through them with little difficulty.

Adrenaline pumped through Matthew's veins, his arms swinging his war hammer with all his strength. His vision was impaired and it was difficult to make out friend from foe, but he saw enough to recognize that the enemy was breaking.

Quarter was not asked or given. On foot, few of Renly's men stood a chance. Some recognized that fleeing was futile, so they chose to make a stand.

Encouraged by his actions, more gold cloaks and mercenaries began pouring out of the gate. Matthew swung his hammer around again and again, although Barristan and Balon kept most enemies from getting anywhere near his presence.

Those who broke were hunted down, while the enemies that stood their ground lasted longer. More boats were heading towards shore, except for two that the cannons succeeded in destroying, taking its occupants with them.

Matthew heard, rather than felt, a pair of crossbow bolts impact his breastplate. Balon killed both before they could either fire a second shot or flee out of danger. Despite the situation, he broke into hysterics, seeing his enemy flee before him.

"Joffrey! Joffrey! Joffrey!" Matthew heard the chant grow louder. With their blood up, the men felt as if nothing could challenge them. Matthew knew it was untrue, but was encouraged regardless.

Seeing a pair of crossbow bolts insufficient to even slow him down, Matthew rode into the fray, shouting at his men to fight on. The familiar experience of battle being fought in slow-motion entered his mind. His fear, apprehension, and exhaustion all faded.

People kept coming at him, mostly sellswords that had chosen Renly's cause. Few managed to get anywhere near him, being either wounded or killed by the Kingsguard. Only on a handful of occasions did Matthew have to use his Warhammer.

Perhaps he'd underestimated the progress he made, having been capable of storming through his opponents. Matthew laughed at the absurdity, watching an enemy formation twice his size scatter with minimal friendly losses.

Yet they did not dare stay out for long. Renly's host was for the moment beaten back, but already their venture had caught attention. Most of Sandor's forces were inside the gates, save for those who were overwhelmed.

"Sound the retreat!" Matthew ordered, shaking himself out of the battle fever. Fresh enemy troops were already landing on the riverbank. A few of his men had their horses killed from under them, being pinned underneath. "We've done our job!" _For the moment. _

He regretted leaving the wounded men behind, but there was nothing to be done for them. Renly's attack was broken, which Matthew hoped would give them pause.

For all the danger involved, and even though the battle was far from won, Matthew had accomplished what he set out to do. Those who followed him possessed hope, no matter how overwhelming the odds were.

XXXXXXXXXX

Loras climbed into the boat alongside Renly, their Rainbow Guard rowing at full speed across the river. The current had sped up, forcing them to fight to keep themselves in a steady direction.

At least from what he could see near King's Landing, the enemy was in retreat, but the battle was far from won. Water flew into his eyes from rocks impacting into the river from trebuchets.

Loras shook his head, wanting all the vision he could manage. But Trebuchets didn't worry him, at least not in comparison to the wildfire and the other weapons he'd never encountered before.

"I'll be eating dinner in the Red Keep this time tomorrow!" Renly japed, regaining his confidence. Neither Loras nor Randall considered it a good idea to have him join the battle, though he chose to ignore the advice.

The King's banner could be seen a couple hundred yards better, his collection of goons slaughtering those who attempted to breach the gates. Unfortunately, they only possessed battering rams to get inside the city.

More men rushed across the crippled boats that allowed a bridge across the river. While they did not have to face wildfire, Joffrey's remaining ships used them as target practice, arrows and scorpions taking down many who attempted the journey.

Loras lowered his visor as they got closer. His mind dimly registered the fact the sun was setting, obstructing his vision further. He unsheathed his sword at fifty yards from shore.

An iron ball hit the center of the boat adjacent to Renly's, killing all those unfortunate enough to be aboard. Loras could not turn his head away, knowing how easily it could have been them.

He and Brienne shared a look of terror. However much he couldn't stand the woman, Loras found himself relating to her. While he was among the best swordsmen in Westeros, he had never experienced real combat.

_It's nothing like the songs, _he realized. They didn't speak about the sight of blood, or the smell of burning and decayed flesh. Loras prayed the Lannisters possessed no more wildfire.

He and Renly climbed out of the boat the instant they touched land, not wanting to give them a stationery target to shoot at. Loras pushed for the others to get in formation quickly.

The larger vessels, of which barely a dozen remained, made landfill, deploying hundreds of knights for a renewed offensive. Only a handful of Renly's remaining forces were still on the other side of the river.

Joffrey's remaining ships traveled up the bay, having allowed enough time to pass for the barrels of wildfire to drift out to sea. Outnumbered two to one, what remained of their fleet wasn't likely to last long.

Loras spotted the enemy retreating behind the walls of the city. Now that they were onshore, they were within effective range of the scorpions.

Renly ordered the men into formation, with turtles being thrown over those who would batter down the gates. Much to Loras' relief, he was unwilling to be in the thick of the fighting. Even if he had encouraged his love to take the throne for himself, he wasn't going to allow Renly to be in any more danger than was strictly necessary.

"Follow me, men!" Renly raised his sword. "They're falling behind the walls! This is our chance! Come with me and take this city!"

Despite the enthusiasm, everyone was disciplined enough to keep formation and not charge forward. Longbowmen moved within range of those on the walls, picking off a few of the defenders manning catapults.

"Focus on those manning the. . . whatever those things are!" Loras ordered, briefly moving from his position. Despite screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice only carried a dozen feet.

Black smoke could be seen from the locations of the weapons, obstructing the sight of the operators. Archers kept themselves low to the ground, not wishing to draw any attention to themselves.

_Perhaps we should have resorted to a siege after all. _Loras mused, watching everyone who attempted to storm the gates get themselves slaughtered. However, there was no turning back, not with the enemy fleet cutting them off from those who remained on the other side of the river.

Joffrey's forces were cleared from the field, with those too wounded to join their comrades butchered. Commoner or noble, it made no difference. After suffering such losses, the knights wanted revenge.

Renly's forces spread out, moving across three of the gates. Tens of thousands of men, while providing an excellent morale booster, also provided a target-rich environment to the enemy.

"All right, we hit all the gates at the same time, force them to spread their men out." Renly ordered. "They can't have many left, not after the beating they took on the field." His subordinates moved to relay his instructions.

A couple arrows hit Loras' armor, but he was at such a distance that he did not so much as feel the impacts. Despite that, he made sure to keep his visor down, refusing to risk a lucky shot.

Bit by bit, the scorpion operators were wounded or killed, with the men inside the walls too frightened to attempt replacing them. King's Landing was completely surrounded by the time night fell, having seized the initiative from the enemy.

Torches were extinguished in the city, forcing both sides to fight blind. The few on the field who attempted to light them were swiftly rebuked by their comrades. Loras found he could barely make out Renly standing a mere few feet away, let alone how the battle was progressing.

Sounds of the new weapon almost felt like they were mocking the efforts to silence them, screams in the dark warning that at least some of the balls hit their mark. Those who remained spread out further, having difficulty spotting the gates in the darkness.

Red and orange fire lit up the night sky near the Lion's gate, burning men running around in a panic. Enemy soldiers on the battlements fortunately put them out of their misery with a hailstorm of arrows.

"Wildfire!" Loras cursed, revealing more fear than he intended. For just a brief moment, he felt his muscles freeze. Facing an archer or enemy man-at-arms was one thing; the prospect of burning alive quite another.

Their battering ram, turtle, and soldiers went up at once, sparking an immediate retreat from the gates. Loras would have berated them for their cowardice had he not felt the same way.

Similar scenes rang out across the gate, the Lannisters proving to possess even more wildfire than anyone gave them credit for. Those near the gates fled in a panic, only a few bothering to even cover the retreat.

"There's no turning back now," Renly whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "We're cut off from the river and. . ."

"We'll break through, Your Grace," Loras promised, praying he would be able to stay true to his words. The idea of conceding defeat wasn't something his pride would allow him to accept.

"The darkness is as big a problem for them as it is for us," Renly considered, consciously ignoring the arrows and bolts near them. Those manning them on the walls would not spot their location, so long as they refused to use torches and kept their voices quiet. "We can distract them at. . ." A scorpion bolt slammed into Renly's breastplate, exiting out the other side and killing the king instantly.

Loras dived to his knees, cradling Renly in his arms, sobbing. He felt around for any sign of life, hoping the armor he wore would make a difference. Feeling the giant bolt inside him, however, dashed that hope.

Brienne tried to provide support, only for Loras to roughly push her away. _What have I done? _His suggestion for Renly to take the throne led to the death of the only man he would ever love. Someone who would have been a far better king than anyone who came before.

"My Lord. . . we can't stay here," Brienne insisted, although she was sobbing just as much.

Loras' grief was replaced by more rage than he'd ever imagined. Speaking with quiet fury, he spoke: "Once this is over, Renly will be buried with honor. I will cut down any man or woman who disrespects his body." He pushed himself to his feet, sword clutched tightly in his hand.

Joffrey would suffer for what he'd done, no matter what it took. "Storm the gates, kill them all. We'll turn King's Landing into their tomb." _For Renly! _Loras charged forth, no longer caring if he lived or died.

XXXXXXXXXX

The battle was ultimately too long to have it in a single chapter, so I decided to split it into parts. Renly's dead, but contrary to Matthew's hopes, it hasn't destroyed their morale. (Provided anyone outside the immediate area even knows about it, given the chaos around them)


	12. Battle of the Blackwater Part 2

Actions have consequences, which is what I hope to make apparent. Killing Littlefinger, however much the little bastard deserved it, meant no alliance with the Tyrells and a far more desperate fight.

I apologize for the last two chapters being delayed, but I've been working on my original fiction projects. One I'm hoping to have published early next year, which I'm both excited and nervous about. Thought about moving to another idea, but a couple people convinced me to keep pushing, so thank you.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Your Grace. . . our forces have been driven from the field," Osmund Kettleblack spoke quietly, not wishing to alarm the frightened crowd. "Battering rams are being deployed against four of the gates. We're holding them off for now, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Your cousin Lancel's been killed and the Hound is Gods-Know-Where."

_By the Gods, _Sansa lowered her head in prayer. She'd done everything she could to keep people's hopes alive, only for it to matter not at all. Knowing what happened to Jeyne, she doubted they would be merciful should the gates be broken.

"And my son?" Cersei questioned, now substantially drunk. Sansa was amazed she could even speak, let alone stand up.

"He's still on the walls, giving speeches and encouraging the men to fight on," Osmund informed. "He went into the field earlier, but. . ."

"Bring him back inside the Red Keep now," Cersei ordered. Sansa prayed for his safety and that his recklessness didn't get him killed.

"My Queen, our men are barely fighting on and only his presence keeps the line solid," Osmund protested weakly. "If we pull him back. . ."

"Now!" Cersei screamed, slamming the wine goblet onto the floor. A frightened gasp echoed through the room. "Bring him back here and raise the drawbridge. No one gets in or out."

"At once, My Queen," Osmund reluctantly went to carry out his orders.

"We've lost. It's over." A few of the women began crying.

"You may not know what happens when a city is sacked, but it appears as if you'll soon find out," Cersei mocked. "Perhaps you'll persuade the men with a sweet song not to rape you bloody. Not that it'll help your dear friend, as I'm sure you've discovered."

"My Queen, perhaps we can still. . ."

"Enough, little dove. If this was a different man, I might be able to persuade him to attend a private audience, away from prying eyes. Men lose all sense when witnessing a naked woman. Most men at least, but not Renly Baratheon. He desires something I lack."

"What is that?" Sansa asked despite herself.

"A cock." Sansa's eyes widened in response. "Does that shock you, little one? There are a few men who prefer them on their partner, abominations all. Best learn to get used to it if you're to survive here."

"My Queen, surely it isn't over yet. King Joffrey can rally the troops, hold the gates."

"If I were born a man, I could have done it myself. When Jaime and I were children, we looked so much alike even our father couldn't tell us apart." Cersei continued to ramble nonsensically, the previously dignified queen now a wreck.

_She's given up all hope. _Sansa realized. It was pointless to try and speak to her. All eyes were on the queen, women and children clutching each other desperately.

"We'll be fine," Sansa attempted to promise, hoping she could convince herself. "Joffrey's out there on the battlement, slaying many foes. The Gold Cloaks are holding. We're in the safest place in King's Landing."

"Are they breaching the gates?" Someone screamed.

"No, they haven't gotten anywhere near the gates," Sansa lied. The city was in total darkness, depriving her of any possibility to figure out what the truth was.

"Joffrey will beat them back, won't he?" Tommen asked, eyes on his mother.

Seeing the frightened child, Sansa sat next to him and gripped his hands in her own. "Yes, Tommen, he will. He's the bravest man I've ever known." She forced herself to overlook the incident involving Arya and the butcher's boy.

"He was always mean to me, but I don't want him to die," Tommen admitted. "Maybe I should have gone out there."

"No, no, you're where you belong," Sansa promised. Tommen would swiftly die if he was forced to fight. "Can you assist your mother? She needs you to be strong and look after her, okay?"

"What will happen to everyone else? The commoners aren't allowed to be in here."

"Your brother will look after them; so will the Imp. Right now, your mother needs you more." Sansa released his effort, watching him sprint after her. She could not help but feel disgusted at the Queen for doing so little to support her people.

Sansa gestured for others to surround her, holding hands all the while. "We just need to have faith. It'll be over soon. Please, join me in song. . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Your Grace, the Queen has ordered you back to the Red Keep immediately," Osmund declared.

Matthew looked around, rubbing his chin in thought. "I didn't hear any order." He responded. "Anyone hear any order for me to go back?"

"I have gone temporarily deaf, Your Grace," Tyrion quipped.

"I'm not abandoning my men," Matthew declared. "I will not ask them to go anywhere that I do not. My mother will have to understand my decision once all this is over."

Each time Renly's forces approached the gates, more wildfire was sent in their direction. Men and rams alike burned just outside the city walls.

_Damn good thing I'm not fleeing, _The Gold Cloaks' courage was hanging by a thread. If anything more happened, their only thoughts would be of flight. Part of him was tempted, but knew he'd be condemning the entire city to pillage, rape, and murder.

"Get the cannons off the city walls and move them near the gates," Matthew ordered. "Carefully remove the remaining gunpowder and have them ready to fire should they be breached. We're firing blind right now, and all we're accomplishing is a waste of limited resources."

Matthew knew it would not be a quick deployment, especially in the dark. Only flames from the wildfire gave people any sense of direction.

"Your Grace, perhaps it would be wiser to retreat to the Red Keep," Meryn Trant offered.

"If I do that, the men break, our enemies get inside, and I'll be killed in any case. I'm not going anywhere." Matthew mounted his horse, petting it gently. "Uncle Imp, with me."

"Do you plan on making another attack outside?" Tyrion questioned. "If so, nephew, I fear I'd. . ."

"No, I've got something different in mind." Matthew grabbed a torch and ordered his Kingsguard to carry them as well.

In the distance, Matthew heard fighting breaking out inside the city. He cursed to himself despite knowing how likely it was. People were panicking, losing hope. Should the gates break, it was every man for himself.

He rode from one gate to another, ensuring the remaining defenders were aware of his presence. Matthew kept his eyes up, relieved that the smallfolk posted on the rooftops at least had not fled.

Seeing the King among his men, Matthew hoped it would keep morale up at least enough to avoid a terrified rout. Renly's forces were cut off, and had to either storm the castle or surrender.

_They couldn't bring any siege equipment across, save for battering rams. I saw no signs of siege ladders, although that doesn't mean they may not have them anyway. Even with them, climbing the city walls would be a fool's errand. No, the battering rams are the only hope they have. _

"I'm glad to see you're still willing to fight, Your Grace," Barristan complimented. "So long as you are visible, they will fight on. Shall we do anything about the rioters?"

"Not as long as they don't interfere with our defensive operations," Matthew shook his head reluctantly. The civilians would have to fend for themselves, at least for now.

He called to those on the walls: "Redeploy to the gates; form a line of pikemen behind the cannons! No matter what, we will not let them loose into the city!"

One by one, the cannons were moved to the Mud Gate, the Lion's Gate, the Gate of the Gods, and the King's Gate. It took longer than Matthew would have liked, but they were loaded and ready to rain death on any enemy foolish enough to approach them.

Matthew checked the wooden barriers on the side, making sure they held, and ordering them strengthened when necessary. "So you believe they're going to breach the gates, then?" Tyrion quipped but he knew how worried the dwarf was.

"I intend to prepare for the possibility," Matthew announced. "No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Any word on whether the other gates are being assaulted?" He waved down Jacelyn Bywater, who looked ready to piss himself in terror but was nonetheless encouraging his men.

"No, Your Grace. They're focusing on the four gates for now. As of yet, none have managed to get that far, but I fear it won't be long."

"Make sure to remind your men their wives and children are depending on them. Keep me informed if anything changes."

_I never should have tried to change things from canon. _In doing so, Matthew had only made matters worse for himself. He kept a confident appearance, but began to fear the worst. That so many were counting on him only added to his dread. Matthew had experience in combat, but of a very different form and he had never commanded thousands of men.

"Your Grace, they've taken a battering ram to the Lion's Gate!" A Gold Cloak informed in panic.

"Hit them with wildfire, show them what it means to defy me," Matthew instructed.

"Your Grace. . . there is no more wildfire on that gate," The man trembled, fearing he would be killed for giving Matthew bad news.

_Fuck! _Matthew's face hardened, knowing what would now be necessary. "All right, get as many men on the walls as you can spare. Pull them off the gates not being attacked if you have to. Make sure the peasants are ready to give them a proper greeting. Are the cannons ready?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Form a wall of pikes, make sure we have a good choke point. Archers and crossbowmen will be behind the pikes. Those cannons better be ready to fire the instant those gates fall. Mark my words, we will pull through this, and we will make that son of a bitch sorry he ever tried to take this city!"

_I wish I was as confident as I'm trying to sound. _If the gates were breached, the battle was usually over in the time period Matthew was forced into. His more modern view could just as easily be a detriment as an asset.

XXXXXXXXXX

"The gates are nearly breached!" Loras attempted to inspire his men despite the statement being at best a half-truth. "Your King is counting on you!"

He found himself incapable of seeing more than a few feet in front of him, but there was no other choice. Joffrey's navy held the bay, preventing retreat. Only by getting into King's Landing would they survive.

Loras refused to consider surrender, not after what happened to the man he loved. Garlan would perhaps encourage him to bend the knee, but he had not seen any sign of his older brother since the sun set. For all he knew, Garlan was dead as well.

Men on the walls crashed to the ground from arrow wounds, dead from the impact even if the arrowheads were not immediately fatal. If Loras hated one thing, it was being helpless. All he could do was wait for an opening and direct the troops to provide as much distraction as they could to protect those at the gates.

"Spread out! Spread out!" Loras ordered. Too dense of a mob would provide nothing more than an easy target for the enemy. Crossbowmen and longbowmen moved as close to the walls as they dared, here and there managing to take out King Landing's defenders.

_At least those damn devices are no longer heard. _Loras sighed with relief. While effective, they weren't enough on their own to hold back such a massive host. He presumed those who operated them were dead, meaning their victory was soon at hand.

Provided, of course, the gates could be broken down. Loras jumped feeling the wind of a scorpion bolt, knowing that even his armor would be no match for it.

Even once they got inside the city, the Reach would have paid a massive cost for it. Loras could not see the exact toll, but listening to dead and dying all around the fields warned the number was unlikely to be a small one.

He fought down the urge to panic and flee, knowing his men needed a strong example to follow. Whispers were already abundant that the King was dead, try and Loras might to keep the news from spreading.

"For Renly's sake, we have to win this battle," Brienne spoke softly, even more afraid than Loras.

"We will and I'm going to personally execute that abomination," Loras vowed. The woman had stayed by his side from the moment Renly died, her tears visible even in the darkness.

Two siege ladders were placed against the walls, those who occupied them hoping to climb up without being seen. The moonless sky hindered friend and foe alike.

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Loras believed he saw the numbers of projectiles flinging toward the fields to be dropping. Certainly there were crossbowmen firing from slits where they could not be easily taken down. _We will get in there. We will. _

A loud crack inspired a cheer from those close enough to notice, seeing the first sign the Lion's Gate was ready to give way. Loras' head perked up at the sound of the battering ram's pace increasing.

"Reform! Reform!" Loras ordered, sending the other members of the Rainbow Guard out to make sure his orders were given. It was a risk, especially if the gate was not as close to breaking as he believed. No battle, however, could be won without taking chances.

Siege ladders crashed to the ground right after the first men climbed onto the walls, fighting back the Gold Cloaks and mercenaries determined to thwart them. Dragging the injured men away to relative safety, those already on the walls bought time for them to push the ladders back up, allowing them a true opening for the first time.

The opportunity they needed. Loras marched to the formation ready to storm once the gate was battered down. No more wildfire, only rocks that could easily be shielded against.

Archers on the flanks covered their assault, picking off anyone foolish enough to stand by a torch. With each blow, the gate gave more and more. Nothing would stand in the way of his vengeance.

XXXXXXXXXXX

_We've got a few minutes, maybe less than that. _Matthew worried, seeing the bolts on the gate cracking. Only a few were still above the walls, the rest either fleeing or dead.

Prayers were whispered among the pikemen, many of their bodies shaking. Matthew wasn't sure they would hold if the gates were truly breached. All he could do was trust in their courage and make sure to be seen.

"This isn't exactly the way I would have chosen to die," Tyrion quipped behind Ser Barristan.

"Shut up!" Matthew ordered, not wanting to have his men hear such words. He would have rode along the side of his phalanx if the barriers he built would have permitted it. The cannons would tear through the first ones to break through, killing dozens of enemies, boosting the morale of those wishing to flee.

Unless the cannons failed to go off. Or those responsible for operating them were killed before the fuse could be ignited.

_Enough, _Matthew told himself. The gate was nearly open but he kept his eyes on his men. Matthew was certain that if even one threw down his spear and fled, all his fellows would do the same or so many that a strong defense would be futile.

Reports of enemies who managed to climb the walls reached his ears. It was all but impossible to tell the difference between friend and foe among those who were inside the city. Matthew cursed at the idea, but he could only focus on a single task. Should he leave, even for a moment, he was certain all his plans would fall apart.

"I speak to those who stand before me today, ready to hold back the hordes who wish to destroy this fine city!" Matthew made sure his voice carried to everyone. "To those who stand with me now, those who will fight and bleed by my side, I will, from this day to my last day, consider you all my brothers! This night, the streets will run red with Tyrell blood! Stand firm, no matter what they throw at you!

"I could not be prouder to fight alongside men of such caliber! This time tomorrow, we will feast triumphant in the Red Keep! Are you with me?"

A few hesitant cries were his only response. "I can't hear you! Are you with me?"

"For the King!" More exclaimed, though not as many as Matthew hoped. Regardless, it had done its job.

The Kingsguard moved to surround Matthew, informing him that only seconds remained. All his plans, all his training. . . whether it would be enough to keep him alive, he would soon find out.

Both doors of the gate were flung aside, archers peppering those who carried the battering rams. Arms and legs were punctured, seeing them fall helplessly to the ground.

But those behind them charged forward, trampling over the wounded in their haste to come to grips with the enemy.

Loud booms echoed through the streets, Matthew finding his orders to fire the cannons were not necessary. The pair of iron balls tore through armored and unarmored men alike, dozens perishing from a mere two cannonballs. More died from the barrage of rocks and filth thrown from above.

Yet still more attempted to pour into the breach, throwing themselves against the hasty spear wall. With adversaries in full plate, arrows could do little to stop them. Only large rocks slamming into their heads inflicted casualties among the knights.

Mercenaries attempted to flank the wall, only to be hampered by the barricade. Tyrion rushed to the archers, ordering them to concentrate their fire on those trying to cut through the wooden barrier.

Dead Tyrell bannerman soon proved another obstacle for their allies to overcome. Wounded men were given no attention, even killed by their careless comrades stepping on them.

"Hold the line! Hold the line! They are breaking!" Matthew called out, though he could barely see what was going on. Only the clashing sounds informed him that the battle was not yet over.

Spears were hacked and pushed aside by desperate knights trying to break through the wall, Matthew grateful to witness their stupidity. Each enemy falling would provide another obstacle to the remainder.

A pair of crossbow bolts struck Matthew's armor, having no more effect than on the previous occasion. Many Gold Cloaks were not so lucky, often having only a breastplate and helmet if they were lucky.

Matthew dismounted, not wanting his horse to be shot down from under him. More Gold Cloaks fell, creating gaps in the line. His eyes watched his men, praying they wouldn't break and flee, dooming the entire city to a sack.

"If we don't stop them here, we're dead," Matthew warned his Kingsguard, keeping his voice quiet. Trying to flee would lead to certain death for everyone, but he knew their flight-or-fight instincts could overcome that.

Knights hacked through the spears, pouring through the small gaps the crossbows created. Matthew prepared himself for battle, intent on buying as much time as he could. His plans would prove sufficient, provided morale didn't shatter.

Spears were thrown down at the rear of the line, a pair of Gold Cloaks fleeing for their lives. Matthew screamed at them, demanding they return to their post, but it was useless.

"Well, I can't say it's been an honor fighting beside them," Tyrion commented. More Gold Cloaks fled, the line all but broken. Only a handful who retreated managed to get away, being slaughtered by crossbow bolts.

Peasants on the roof fought valiantly, but were running out of heavy objects to hinder the enemy. Yet unlike the gold cloaks below them, they refused to break. Men and women alike on the roofs knew what a sack entailed, many of whom having a personal memory of the one 17 years before.

Matthew bowed in respect to their courage, the peasants' effort the only reason the battle was not yet completely lost. "No matter what, we will not let them through." He declared, knowing what he was asking of his Kingsguard. Not one moved, ready to fight to the end.

A third of the Gold Cloaks, knowing their families would die should the battle be lost, stood their ground alongside the archers. The others emitted panicked screams, tossing aside their weapons and fleeing for their lives.

Barristan, Moore, and Swann bolstered the Gold Cloaks, proving their reputation for swordsmanship was not hyperbole. Barristan cut down two knights in seconds, his sword thrusting through the gaps in their armor.

Meryn Trant and Preston Greenfield flanked Matthew, intercepting the knights intending to kill the King. Tyrion moved to the flanks, bashing the unprepared with his axe. He briefly shared a terrified expression with Matthew, each knowing the battle was likely lost.

"You!" An enraged man screamed so loudly it could be heard even through the melee.

_Oh, fuck! _Matthew cursed, coming face to face with Loras Tyrell. He raised his hammer, praying one of his bodyguards would be able to assist him. _Maybe I can. . . _Hopes of a lucky shot were instantly dashed when Loras' sword slammed into him four times in two seconds.

Matthew swung his hammer around at top speed, aiming for the younger knight's head, for it was the only way to bring him down. He moved back, refusing to be a stationery target, but it made no difference. Each of Loras' blows hit their mark, with only his armor allowing him to stay standing.

Only occasionally was he able to dodge or deflect Loras' attacks. Were it not for the fact the legendary fighter was too enraged to think clearly, the clash would have already been over. Matthew charged him bodily, intent on turning it into hand-to-hand combat, where he could face the Knight of the Flowers on more even terms.

He grabbed Loras' arms, attempting to use his greater size to force him to heel, but his opponent swiftly broke out of Matthew's grip. With a single strong blow, the hammer was knocked out of his hand, leaving him defenseless.

Loras aimed his sword behind Matthew's knee, finding a gap in the armor and cutting. He felt a warm substance covering his leg, but gave no more thought to it. Matthew kept himself moving, knowing he was a corpse if he stayed still.

Half a dozen arrows impacted Loras' armor, failing to penetrate any part of his body. However, the brief window allowed Matthew a chance to get out of his reach, not wanting to be anywhere near a man crazed with rage.

Matthew felt a second impact against his left leg, the force sufficient to send him to the ground. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the end. _I'm sorry, _Matthew gave a mental apology to the people he failed to protect.

Several seconds passed before he realized he wasn't dead. Matthew opened his eyes, open mouthed at the sight of Loras and Barristan's combat. Both men moved too quickly for Matthew to follow, swords smashing into each other and the armor several times a second.

Fighting still surrounded him, though Matthew could not make out the difference between friend and for. Clashing outside the walls. . . it didn't sound possible, and more likely than not, a hallucination.

Wasting no time, Matthew pushed himself to his feet, searching for a weapon. However unlikely his survival now was, he refused to go down without as much resistance as he could offer.

His left leg strained under his weight, forcing Matthew to rely on his right. Barristan and Loras continued their duel, oblivious to everything else around them. Bloodied and exhausted, Balon Swann moved to support Matthew, attempting to take him off the battlefield.

"You're in no condition to fight, Your Grace," Balon insisted. "We must get you back to the Red Keep!"

Matthew wanted to argue, but his leg was refusing to cooperate with him. "All right, do everything you can to hold the enemy back." He saw no more of Renly's forces rushing the breached gate, which he had anticipated.

Men fell to the ground right and left, some of whom were butchered by their own comrades. Bodies piled up in the streets, making it all but impossible to move through King's Landing, or tell friend from foe. Matthew breathed with gratitude to see his barriers were mostly intact, forcing the enemy into a choke point.

Only a few still fought on. Despite the horrific circumstances, part of Matthew was disappointed he would not be able to see the final results of the legendary clash before him.

Balon supported him in his return to the Red Keep, while Mandon made sure no foes were charging in their direction. Flames erupted outside the city walls, Matthew only just making out a pair of horses.

XXXXXXXXXX

Loras' swings became more sloppy in his desperate efforts to kill Joffrey, to make him suffer just as he had. Numerous blows impacted Barristan's armor, but the older fighter never stayed still long enough for him to pierce the gaps.

When the gates were breached, he was certain victory was at hand, yet the enemy's troops held. Barristan jumped back, his sword swinging out and catching Loras' face just deep enough to draw blood.

Seeing Joffrey being evacuated inspired him to fight all the more desperately. Loras could not even guess how the battle was going, not daring to take his eyes off Barristan for a moment.

Barristan inflicted more blows, two of them coming dangerously close to killing him. Loras would have been excited for such a test under other circumstances, but all he wanted in that moment was to avenge his lover.

Loras was forced to retreat, taking several steps to the side, allowing him a moment to regain his bearings. No sooner did he recover than Barristan was already upon him, gripping his sword arm. Loras countered by wrapping his leg around Barristan's, intent on bringing his body to the ground.

"Joffrey is mine!" Loras promised, seeing an advantage. Barristan was a legend, but he was old, whereas the Knight of the Flowers was in his prime.

Loras' eyes widened as he found himself falling to the ground as well, Barristan succeeding in dragging him down with him. Loras cursed, rapidly getting to his feet, only to find a sword pressed against his neck.

"I recommend you yield, Ser Loras," Barristan warned, stony-eyed. "Your forces are broken. It is pointless to continue fighting any longer."

_No! No! _Loras didn't care if he died, so long as he took Joffrey with him. Seeing a sword tip pressed against his neck, however, made him realize that an a minimum, he could not personally do the deed.

Having no other choice, he moved his hand away from his sword. Were it another fighter, Loras would have been confident he could grab his weapon in time. Not Barristan the Bold.

"Kill me; I will not bend the knee to the likes of Joffrey," Loras demanded. He didn't care how selfish it was; he wanted to be reunited with his love.

"I'm afraid not," Barristan refused. "I am not one to spill unnecessary blood."

For the first time, Loras had enough time to check on the status of his forces. Joffrey's men were in disarray, but those who held were enough to keep them from pouring into the city.

Outside the walls, he could hear the sounds of combat, a sinking feeling in his heart. _Tywin Lannister. _Loras clenched his fists, having been certain Renly could take the city before he could possibly be an issue.

His will to fight broken, Loras slumped and prepared himself for the consequences of losing. Tyrell ambition cost him Renly, and all he could do was pray it would not cost the life of his siblings as well.

XXXXXXXXXX

Matthew only vaguely registered his armor being removed. Relief came with each piece of plate taken from his body, a cool rag placed on his forehead.

_Have we won the fight? _He wanted to ask, but was too weak to utter the words. Eyes blinking, he made out at least half a dozen people around him. An older gentleman was saying something to a terrified woman, though it was impossible to make out.

In the corner, someone with red hair was pleading for news. _Emily? _The hair looked familiar for a moment before Matthew reminded himself where he was. _No, it's got to be Sansa. _

Exhaustion creeping over him, Matthew half-shut his eyes, struggling to keep them open. _Am I going into shock? _He knew he didn't have the benefits of modern medicine and even a minor wound could be deadly in Westeros.

Matthew made out a ceiling, seeing the room surrounded by candles, more so than was typical for the time period. His leg couldn't be moved, but he was in little pain.

He wanted to speak, grab their attention, demand to know how the battle was progressing. Yet Matthew's brain demanded rest and his eyes shut.

The next thing he knew, Matthew found himself in a deserted field. His leg was healed, allowing him to walk or even run, should he so choose. He rubbed his temples, wondering what. . . _My skin! _Matthew turned his arm around, seeing the dark skin that felt almost strange after months in Westeros. _I'm in my old body._

"Am I home again?" Matthew dared to hope, checking himself out to see if it was indeed his old body. Green grass littered the landscape far as the eye could see. "Maybe. . . but perhaps I shouldn't make assumptions after everything that's happened."

"Did you forget I existed, bastard?" A voice screamed from behind him. Matthew instinctively reached for his sword, only to find himself armed with a pistol inside. Ready for the worst, he turned around to face his new opponent.

And made eye contact with a livid Joffrey Baratheon.

XXXXXXXXXX

I'm hoping this lived up to expectations. Matthew's done everything he could, but facing the likes of Loras Tyrell wasn't going to end any way but badly for him. The battle's won, at least for now. Of course, now there are other issues to contend with.


	13. Repercussions

Had a sudden burst of inspiration, so I'm posting this a couple days earlier than I'd originally planned. Wrote 5,000 words in a single day on all my various projects, so I'm rather proud of myself.

XXXXXXXXXX

"By the Gods. . ." Robb Stark whispered, looking over the scene before him. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men, women, and children butchered.

"It seems the Mountain has escaped justice once again," Roose Bolton remarked, surveying the area. Every Stark and Tully captive held in Harrenhal were littered across the rain, the two of them stepping in puddles of blood.

The lucky ones had their throats cut or were hanged. Robb looked over to the center, seeing a group of nude female bodies, tortured and mutilated. A pair of knives were next to the rightmost corpse, the blood still stained on it a dark reminder of Clegane's work.

Robb swore to himself Clegane would die slowly if he ever got his hands on the quiet. _Perhaps even given to Bolton. . . _It wasn't a punishment Robb would give to anyone else, even the likes of Jaime Lannister. However, if anyone deserved to be flayed alive, it was Ser Gregor.

"Check around, see if there are any survivors," Robb ordered, his bannermen frozen with rage. "Now! And make sure my mother. . ." Catelyn walked between them before he could spare his mother the sight before them.

His bodyguards took out their swords, cursing in fury. The Smalljon hacked apart several pieces of wood, most of them in a single blow, promising vengeance to the Lannisters. Dacey Mormont cursed so foully than any man would be proud.

A few of the faces were familiar, men that had served his father since before Robb was born. He kneeled down, burning the faces of the dead in his mind. Robb frowned in quiet fury, hand grasping his sword unconsciously.

No one spoke a word, save for a few silent prayers to the Old Gods. Riverlanders, Northmen, and peasants alike were slaughtered. Robb walked over a log, searching through the dead for any sign that some were lucky enough to escape such a grisly fate.

Catelyn turned toward her son, her face struggling to hold onto its dignity, but Robb knew she would break down the instant his mother had a moment alone. Only the reminder of his duties prevented him from doing the same.

_Such butchery cannot be allowed to continue. _Robb nearly tripped over a young boy that had his arms and legs hacked off before his heart was cut out. He drew his swords, thrusting it into a wooden post, wishing it was Tywin Lannister before him.

"Any survivors?" Robb asked his mother in a slightly choked voice.

"No, they are still looking." A single tear rolled down Catelyn's cheek. Harrenhal was searched from room to room for those lucky enough to escape. It went unspoken among Robb's bannermen they hoped to locate Lannister men they could repay with blood.

A handful of survivors were located, wounded men and women who managed to pass themselves off as corpses. None spoke a word, flinching at every touch, staring at their rescuers with dead eyes.

"If I had any doubt about taking the Iron Throne, it is now gone." Robb informed his mother. Allowing such atrocities from the Crown could not be tolerated. He still did not wish for the throne, but. . . perhaps better him than the alternatives.

Bodies were dragged into a pile to be burned, given as much respect as they could manage. Even in such a somber moment, however, boots, swords, and shields were taken for further use.

"We must respond to this provocation." Bolton reminded Robb. "Balon Greyjoy still raids your lands, yet Theon still rides beside you. Half the realm now thinks you toothless. A second occasion will break all faith."

Robb considered his words. _I've won every battle, but my men are still losing faith. _He could not bring himself to execute Theon, with many of his bannerman heading back North to defend their lands, which Robb couldn't raise any strong objections to. Not responding to the Lannister's latest provocation would make his position even more precarious.

Bodies were laid down in the center, in between pieces of wood the Riverlanders ripped off from the former cages and gallows. Edmure lit the kindling, his previously optimistic demeanor nothing more than a memory.

Robb took a few steps back, gesturing for his men to ensure they were not caught in the flames. Fire spread only slowly with such limited amounts of wood. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to keep his stoicism.

"Uncle, we must ensure that such an atrocity does not take place again," Robb approached, grabbing his attention. "We hold many Lannister prisoners, do we not? Including Jaime Lannister?"

"You mean to pay them back in kind?" Edmure's eyes widened. Part of him felt horror, at least until the crime they bore witness to returned in his memory with a vengeance.

"Yes, Tywin will learn there are consequences to that creature ravaging our lands," Robb decided, ignoring the voice inside his head telling him it was wrong. "Choose two hundred of our prisoners whom we know have butchered innocents in the Riverlands. Behead them as a warning to the Lannisters that we will not tolerate such behavior."

"Do you have any specifics, Robb. . . I mean, Your Grace?" Edmure questioned.

"Yes. We will execute the Lords, not the peasants. Tywin will consider the latter to be easily replaced, but seeing his bannermen's execution is another matter entirely. Make sure Cleos Frey is there to bear witness to this event, so he can tell his Lannister masters the consequences of butchering our people." Dangerous as Bolton was, he was correct. A message had to be sent to the Lannisters.

"Your father would never have allowed this," Catelyn rebuked.

"Father's dead. They killed him. Honor means nothing to the Lannisters." Robb's guilt for making such an order and satisfaction in inflicting a blow to his enemies warred within his mind. "Harrenhal will be used as a dagger pointing straight at the Lannister heart. Uncle Brynden can keep the Westerlands disorganized and unable to form another host to attack us."

Despite his rage, Robb could not bring himself to give them to Roose Bolton. Flaying was outlawed, but he was certain it was still practiced in secret. No, the executions would be quick, with more mercy than Tywin would ever provide.

Deep down, Robb knew his father would be ashamed of him for the order. Yet compassion was seen as a weakness to his enemies. _I pray they do not force me to do this again. _Robb expected such a plea would go unanswered as the war dragged on.

XXXXXXXXXX

"**Unbelievable; my body controlled by the likes of a commoner!" Joffrey raged, pacing back and forth. **

** "I can't say I particularly enjoy our circumstances, either," Matthew deadpanned. "Being trapped in the body of a mad king wasn't what I wished to do with my life. A bastard born of incest, no less." **

** "How was I taken over by a pathetic little worm like yourself?! Being beaten up by a woman?!" Joffrey waved his hand, visions of his old life replacing the clear sky. **

** "Enough!" Matthew snapped, the memories an unpleasant subject for him. He closed his eyes, although it did no good. **

** "Aw, does that hurt to know you were so weak? Struggling to get away from a girl half your size? You were too feeble and scared to try and fight. . ." Matthew shoved him to the ground, not wanting to hear any more. **

** "You dare touch me?!" Joffrey rushed Matthew, only for him to pin the teenager to the ground. He did not dare do him serious harm, for fear of inflicting it onto himself. Matthew presumed they were inside his mind, but did not know the rules of their situation. Too much was uncharted territory. **

** "Unhand me, peasant!" Joffrey demanded, kicking futilely. **

** "Perhaps you should consider the fact our fates are intertwined. If anything happens to me, you're finished as well." Matthew doubted reasoning with the psycho would get him anywhere, but he decided to make the effort regardless. **

** "I've seen what your world is like. You're fools, giving power to the common people."**

_**There are those who say they don't have any real power. **_**Matthew mused, curious as to whether Joffrey would notice. In some aspects, they would even have a point. However flawed the United States was, though, Matthew vastly preferred it to the likes of Westeros, even being a King. **

** "This body is mine! I've been an intruder in my own skin for far too long! You're going to pay for what I've endured!"**

** "Consider this, Joffrey," Matthew moved to a combat position. "I barely knew you still existed until recently. It's only because I'm injured that you're able to do anything at all. I never credited you with an overabundance of brains, but certainly you can piece together how unlikely it is to end in your favor." **

** Joffrey continued to kick and thrash, screaming obscenities and threats. Matthew rolled his eyes and finished the fight with a single kick, ending his threat. **

** "I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to me!" Joffrey promised, attempting to hide his fear. **

** "And how exactly do you intend to do that?" if Joffrey wasn't such a monster, Matthew would have felt sorry for the boy. He was certain having no control of his body was an agonizing experience, but Matthew had a difficult time caring. **

** "This is my mind too, and your memories are mine to access." Matthew forced himself to ignore the images of his ex-girlfriend using him as a punching bag. **

** "It was more than a decade ago. She has no power over me now." Joffrey laughed, forcing him to relive every moment of it because moving on to his war experiences. Realizing he couldn't beat Matthew physically, Joffrey opted for mental torture. **

** "Fine, if you want to play that game. . ," Matthew regained control of himself, forcibly seizing control of the images above. After a few moments of effort, he changed the scene to that of Cersei and Jaime having relations. "May I present to you your parents?"**

** "You're a liar!" Joffrey denied, trembling. **

** "Search your feelings. You know it to be true." Matthew pushed, deciding to make Joffrey pay for bringing up unpleasant memories. "You were never a Baratheon, only a Lannister."**

** "I'll have you flayed alive for this when I break free of you!" Joffrey stomped his foot on the ground, reminding Matthew of a child's temper tantrum. **

** "Robert was never your father at all, and you were never capable of pleasing him anyway. No matter what you tried." Despite himself, Matthew was a little sympathetic to Joffrey. He'd only been a boy when a crown was put on his head and he was certain their family dynamics had some effects on him. "You were an embarrassment to him, Joffrey. Cowering behind your mother's skirts rather than behaving like a man." **

** Joffrey charged at him, screaming with inhuman fury. Matthew sidestepped, kicking him in the back. He turned around and attacked again, but failed to land a single blow on Matthew. **

** "I've fought far more dangerous opponents than you," Matthew held his hands behind his back and sat on him. He was extremely tempted to spank the boy and add insult to injury, only refraining because Joffrey was beyond the point of reason. "And won, so perhaps discretion is the better part of valor."**

** "I am the King!" he screamed defiantly, on his hands and knees. **

** "Technically, yes. One of them, anyway. You, however, would have brought your family to ruin. Even if they did discover the truth, most would be grateful you were no longer around to screw things up."**

** "You tried showing mercy to people, and what did it get you?" Joffrey spoke in a slightly calmer voice. "You gave food to the peasants, and they tried to kill you in return. Everyone thinks you're weak and feeble, which you are. Saving Stark gained you nothing, only more enemies. Fear is the only way to rule." **

** "What did your cruelty accomplish for you?" Matthew countered, changing the scene to Joffrey's poisoning. His straining stopped, watching his death with horrified fascination. Matthew watched the scene stonily, knowing the consequences that followed afterward. **

** "You know I'm right, peasant." Joffrey sneered. "And since if you die, we both do, perhaps you should stop pretending this is your world. The Tyrells chose to commit treason! Send a message to the entire realm how such actions are punished."**

** "Ah, so you are capable of reason after all," Matthew rolled his eyes. "Let me make this clear: if you try and retake control, I'll send us both careening off the highest tower in the Red Keep." **

** Joffrey kept silent, thinking it over. Matthew gave an added push. "I would suggest we at least try and cooperate with each other. You might even learn a thing or two."**

** "All I've learned during your time controlling my body is that mercy is a weakness. Every time you've tried your stunts, things became worse. Once I wrest control again, I'll teach all of them how a true King punishes his enemies. Flay the alive and they'll learn their lesson."**

** "Oh, I'm certain you'll try." Matthew was relieved Joffrey wasn't in his body. While everything he'd experienced so far was beyond his comprehension, he could live with having Joffrey in his head. Having him in his body, near his loved ones. . . he'd have done anything to prevent that. **

XXXXXXXXXX

_Suppose it was too much to ask to have Father acknowledge anything I've done. _Tyrion glared at Tywin, his arm in a sling due to it being all but shattered at the Blackwater. Even with copious alcohol consumption, the pain was a constant.

Those at Court laughed and jeered at the prisoners, at least until the King ordered silence. Combined with Tywin's infamous glare, no one would dare speak out for fear of the consequences.

One Lord after another were dragged before the King, forced to bend the knee of suffer the consequences. By and large, it was a dull affair, one Tyrion saw little need in paying attention to. For all their words of fealty, it would not stop them from making another attempt should the opportunity arise.

Cersei stood beside her son, arm around his shoulder. _I wonder how you'd respond if you realized that wasn't Joffrey, sister. _Tyrion would love to run that idea by her. Would she refuse to believe it? Or would she be willing to murder the man who possessed Joffrey's appearance?

He shook his head with some reluctance. Tyrion preferred the current King to his foolish nephew and wouldn't actually carry the threat out. Hinting that he might, however, would make the stranger a little more compliant to his interests.

"Before we continue, I would like to make a toast." The King stood up, raising a wine goblet. "First of all, thank you to all the men who bravely participated in the defense of this fine city!" Everyone at court raised one hand, applauding their efforts. "And to my grandfather, Tywin Lannister." Tywin made no acknowledgement of either his words nor the admiration.

"Most of all, I would like to think the architect of our defenses. . . Tyrion Lannister, my uncle! All of us owe him a great debt." The King turned to face Tyrion and gave a rare smile.

"Only doing my duty, Your Grace." Tyrion bowed, feeling everyone's eyes upon him. Many were disdainful, yes, but others. . . it was perhaps the first genuine appreciation he had ever received in his life.

"Don't be so modest, Uncle. Come forth." With mixed feelings, Tyrion did as he asked. He knew what the man was trying to attempt, but that didn't mean he was immune to it. Being recognized for his efforts ignited a rare contentment, even happiness, inside him.

"In fact, if not for my Uncle, I would not be before you now sitting on the Iron Throne. Thank you for everything, Tyrion."

"Glad to see someone noticed I wasn't idle during the battle," Tyrion snarked, inwardly fuming. _You clever little bastard. _By singling Tyrion out, the King had just ensured their fates were tied together. Should anything happen to him, the dwarf's head would be next on the chopping block.

_He's learning. He's an amateur at the Game of Thrones, but he's learning. _Tyrion gave him reluctant respect. It wouldn't stop him forever, of course; the King was far too free when they spoke in private.

Next to be brought before the King was Randyll Tarly, scowling as he was dragged before the Iron Throne. "Being that you were the chief military leader of Renly's forces, you will be spending your remaining days on the Wall as punishment for your crimes."

"If my punishment is the Wall, then I would ask for an execution." Tarly snarled.

"What makes you think I care for what you want?" The King dismissed. "Perhaps some time fighting wildlings at the end of the world will help you reconsider whether rising up against me was a smart idea."

"If Renly had listened to me, make no mistake, I would be presiding over your execution now." Tarly spat defiance, having nothing to lose. Joffrey did not bother responding, gesturing for the guards to drag him away.

Other than a handful who refused to submit and were sentenced to execution, the court was uneventful. Tywin said nothing, spending most of his time studying Joffrey.

"Well, Your Grace, it has been most pleasant listening to you sing my praises." Tyrion commented, bowing once it was only him, Joffrey, and Tywin inside the room. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

"No, you have done quite enough," Tywin responded coldly.

"I'm sorry, Father. I know you were expecting to find my corpse, but true to form, I have disappointed you."

"We've got a meeting with the Tyrell siblings, but I won't need you for that," Joffrey interjected. "I suggest you not aggravate your arm any further and conclude finding out just what Littlefinger was up to."

_I haven't been able to devote much time to that. _Tyrion admitted. Most of his time had been spent preparing the city's defenses. What he had been able to discover, though, was that Littlefinger had some sort of grand game planned. Investments that made little sense, money borrowed and stolen underneath mountains of paperwork. . .

But that was a worry for another time. He had been too long away from Shae. Tyrion considered saying as much; the man who controlled Joffrey's body would likely laugh, but his father would respond in his usual fashion.

He wouldn't be able to do much, but Shae had many, many talents. With his father around, Tyrion knew he would have to be more discreet about meeting her.

_Varys would have been able to help with that, but he's disappeared as well. _He didn't like it and was certain The Spider had something planned. No one knew for certain what Varys wanted, even Tyrion. _He's in the city somewhere, but why did he disappear now?_

Whatever was going on, some time with Shae would help clear his head. However much Tyrion tried to remind himself she was a mere whore, he found himself falling for her.

He opened the door to the Master of Coin's room, already feeling his breeches stiffen in anticipation. A slight whimper on the other side reached Tyrion's ears just as he threw the door aside.

"I've been waiting for you, brother." Cersei gave a devious smile. "It seems you've been keeping secrets from me."

"What is the meaning of this?" Tyrion demanded, wishing Bronn was by his side. Were either he or Shagga near him, Tyrion would have ordered the death of the pair of sellswords and possibly Cersei as well.

One of Shae's eyes were blackened, with countless bruises covering her naked body. Tears and snot dripped down her face, while she curled into a ball, attempting to protect herself from the sellswords.

"I found your little whore, Tyrion." Cersei informed. "You didn't really think I'd let you get away with your plot, did you?"

"What are you talking about?" Tyrion spoke carefully, not wishing to put Shae in more danger. _How did she find out about Shae in the first place?_

"No witty remarks? None of your usual comments?" Cersei walked toward her brother, confident in her victory. Tyrion held his comments back, knowing that Shae would be the one paying the price for them.

"I haven't made any plots," Tyrion trembled, despising being put in a helpless position.

"You tried to kill Joffrey so you could rule through Tommen," Cersei spat, appearing ready to physically assault him.

_That would make things easier, wouldn't it? _At that moment, Tyrion was nearly ready to spill his guts about the truth, just to see how Cersei would react to the news. It would be so satisfying to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face. _But. . . no, she wouldn't believe me and I'd lose all my leverage with him. _

"You convinced him to stay and fight, putting him at risk." Cersei fumed, Tyrion getting the distinct impression she was mostly talking to herself.

"That was his choice and if he hadn't, all of us would have our heads on pikes." Tyrion spoke coldly.

"The only reason I didn't kill you long ago is because our brother Jaime loves you, disgusting little creature that you are. But I will not forget or forgive your attempt to murder my children. You are mine, dwarf." Cersei gestured toward Shae. "So long as you obey me, she'll be allowed to live. You can even visit her."

"And what guarantee do I have that you won't just kill her anyway?" Tyrion had no intention of obeying the likes of Cersei. His sister truly thought she was being magnanimous by allowing occasional visits. He turned to Shae and said: "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

"I know you will, my love," Shae whispered, crying silently.

"For all your plans and japes, you are a fool, little brother." Cersei sneered. "She's a whore. You don't mean anything to her. She only loves your gold, not your company."

"I'm yours, Cersei." _For now. _"But I suggest you keep in mind that King's Landing is a dangerous place. Anything could happen, including to those who think themselves protected." _If she thinks me such a monster, I'll play the part. _"I've never been fond of you, but as you're my blood, I never harmed you. Take care, sister; try not to be afraid of daggers in the dark."

Tyrion stayed just long enough to ensure Shae wasn't going to be killed out of hand, staring at Cersei in cold fury. He swore he would make his sister pay for such an action. No longer would their mutual love of Jaime (if not quite in the same fashion) stay his hand.

He would wait, force himself to be patient while he revised his plans. _I'm going to take everything from you, Cersei, and Father will be able to do nothing to stop me. _Tyrion would never harm Tommen and Myrcella, two children far more decent than their background. Even whoever Joffrey was now, though his restraint had more to do with the fact their agreement was useful. _I'm going to enjoy turning your victory into ashes. _

It was only a matter of time.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You know, one of my advisors suggested I flay you all alive as a warning to any would-be traitors," Matthew spoke coldly, looking over Loras, Margaery, and Garlan. Loras gave a blank stare, Garlan stared back defiantly, and Margaery turned her head in an unreadable expression. "I'm still considering that option."

Garlan jumped but quickly recovered. Matthew gave a brief aside to Tywin Lannister, who chose to attend the meeting alongside his brother Kevan. Tywin had yet to say a word, though he was certain the Lannister patriarch spent his time evaluating what kind of King Matthew was.

"I don't think that would be very smart of you." Garlan folded his hands, scanning the Kingsguard. Even unarmed, Matthew feared the Tyrell brothers would make an attempt on his life. "You wouldn't want to make the largest of the Seven Kingdoms into your enemy."

"That decision was made the moment you chose to support a usurper," Matthew's voice grew angrier by the second. However much he hated the little shit inside his head, Joffrey was right about one thing. _I'm done being soft. _"There is only one punishment for treason."

"Surely you understand how so many men could be taken in by the likes of Renly," Margaery smiled innocently. "None of us realized what sort of man he truly was. It would be in all of our interests to put this unfortunate event behind us."

"My father was lenient toward you after his rebellion," Matthew kept his tone quiet, finding it to be the more effective approach. "Aerys was a monster, which the entire realm knew. Yet his mercy was repaid with treachery. I don't intend to make that same mistake."

"I can understand your anger, and this war was not my choice." Garlan spoke, attempting to reason with him. "However, best not to overplay your position. Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon still have armies of their own and we did not extend the full strength of the Reach."

Matthew considered his next words carefully. Pushing them too hard would lead to their parents hellbent on revenge, likely with a possible marriage match with Robb Stark. However, giving lenient terms would only lead to more rebellion.

"You seem to be under the impression this is a negotiation. Even if your claims are true, it would take time to assemble another host, by which point King's Landing and my grandfather would be more than prepared for you. And I'd still send your body parts to Highgarden as a reminder.

"As of now, the debt the Crown owes you is null and void. Food shipments will resume entering King's Landing immediately. Taxes will be increased for the next decade, applicable to your family and every bannermen foolish enough to persist in this effort."

"I think we can agree to. . . overlook the debt in the interests of good relations." Garlan agreed. "Food shipments can be easily arranged as well. As for taxes, perhaps instead we can assist in rebuilding the city."

"I can assist in feeding the poor," Margaery offered. "I understand you've made such efforts yourself."

_Like I'm that stupid. _"I can manage without any help. However, the increased taxes are non-negotiable. Much will have to be done to repair everything you've destroyed. How much they are increased will depend on your behavior. Perhaps you're unhappy about this, but woe to the vanquished."

"And your prisoners?" Garlan asked. "My men don't deserve to be slaughtered because they followed orders."

"Free to go, after their ransoms are paid and they bend the knee to me. Those that haven't already done so, at least."

"How much are you asking for the smallfolk?" Margaery inquired.

"I believe two silver stags each will suffice." More and they were likely to be left behind and cause trouble in King's Landing. "However, until their ransom comes in, they will be put to work repairing the city, as will the lesser nobles."

"You won't find them very willing to perform peasant work," Loras spoke for the first time, clenching his fists. Garlan put a restraining hand on his arm.

"If they wish to eat, they'll obey." Matthew had many plans, including for removing some of the chamber pot contents from the streets. "Then there's what I should do with the three of you."

Flaying them alive was the nuclear option and Matthew wanted to make certain they knew it was a possibility, however remote. Doing so, however, would make their remaining family members stop at nothing to take revenge.

"We will bend the knee to you publicly, and retract the false claims of your parentage," Garlan declared. "You'll be much better off having us as allies than enemies."

"Not good enough. I don't intend to leave you in a position to support another puppet king the way you did Renly. No, both Garlan and Margaery will remain in King's Landing as my honored guests. So long as Mace behaves himself, nothing will happen.

"As for Loras, he was the principal instigator for Renly's attempt at the Iron Throne. That merits a greater punishment. You will redeem yourself by serving as an honored brother of the Night's Watch." Garlan and Margaery looked at Loras in horror.

"No worries, I'm sure he'll find other lovers to entertain him." Loras lunged toward him, forcing Garlan to use all his strength to hold him back. Barristan and Balon drew their swords, ready to kill if necessary. "Oh, you did know about it? Suppose you would, considering Loras is your brother."

"I will not stand by and listen to this abomination. . ." Garlan put his hand over Loras' mouth.

"Just for that, you're also going to provide funds for the sellswords to fight for my cause." Matthew responded smugly, happy they took the bait.

Having little other choice, they agreed to the terms, save for the last one. Being sent to the Night's Watch or not, Matthew intended to ensure Loras was no longer a threat to him. He'd come perilously close to ending his life.

The Tyrell siblings were escorted to the Tower Cells, where they would receive decent food and drink but be closely watched. Matthew didn't put it past Varys, who had disappeared off the face of Omelos, to kill them and frame him.

"I know quite well you were sitting in on this meeting to obtain an impression of me," Matthew spoke to Tywin before he could say anything. "Out with it."

"More astute than I would have given you credit for," Tywin conceded. "I'm glad to see King's Landing didn't fall apart before I arrived."

"How many prisoners do we have?"

"Perhaps 15,000. Another 10,000 were killed storming the walls, a few thousand more on the river, with everyone capable of fleeing doing so. They will fetch an impressive ransom, along with hostages."

"Speaking of which, I am sending Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch to Dorne for Doran Martell to do with whatever he wishes." Matthew gave a triumphant smirk.

"Your Grace, Ser Gregor strikes fear at the heart of our enemies," Tywin argued. "He cannot be quickly replaced and every lord needs a beast from time to time. Amory can be discarded and the unfortunate act placed on his shoulders."

"He's an uncontrolled beast, as are the brigands he surrounds himself with," Matthew scoffed. "I want men who can use their brains, not dumb muscle. What of the reports from Harrenhal?"

"Gregor killed all who resided inside," Kevan spoke for the first time, still mourning the loss of his son.

"The Starks and Tullys will respond, make no mistake on that." Matthew informed. Even an honorable man could not let such a blatant act stand, not and still have bannermen follow him. "That could include your son. Aren't the Boltons infamous for flaying their enemies?"

Tywin's face went white at the idea of Jaime facing such a horrific punishment. "They would not dare, not when we have Sansa in our grasp."

"We only have Sansa, while they have numerous relatives of yours. Gregor can be replaced while smoothing things over with Dorne at the same time. Clegane's a liability; imagine if he shouted out what he did to Elia Martell for the world to hear."

Tywin thumped his fingers on the table, considering Matthew's words. Kevan whispered something he couldn't make out into his brother's ear. "Who would you have replace him? The fear he inspires is not matched by any living man."

"His brother Sandor is just as dangerous, perhaps more skilled, and has enough restraint not to kill on a whim. If you recall, at my father's tourney, Clegane attempted to kill Loras Tyrell due to losing the joust. How would the Tyrells have responded? Combined with a possible match between Arianne and myself, we can neutralize the Dornish threat."

"His younger brother does have a similar reputation, but the Red Viper at least will not let things go so easily." Tywin warned. Matthew knew he was close.

"He gets to see the possibility of having descendants on the Throne. We can disavow Clegane's actions, and inform Prince Doran he can do whatever he wishes to his captives."

"Perhaps. . . Gregor can be replaced, considering the possible gains. Clegane put my son in danger, and that will I not forgive."

"Order him and Lorch to the Capital, along with a few of their brigands to sweeten the pot. As my Master of War, you will be in charge of defending King's Landing from future incursions."

"I was named Hand of the King, which my son carried out in my stead." Tywin stood up, fixing Matthew with his famous glare.

"Not anymore. I need a fighter, not a hand." _I survived Jakarta. Do you think you're going to intimidate me? _Matthew met Tywin's stare with one of his own. Despite himself, he wanted to wince, but he would ensure that he would be no puppet to Tywin, as Joffrey was.

Their staring contest lasted a couple minutes before Tywin inquired, still staring into Matthew's soul: "Who do you intend to give the position to, my son?" Tywin spoke the words with disgust.

"No, I'm going to keep the Imp as Master of Coin. My Hand will be Stannis Baratheon."

"Your Grace, have you taken leave of your senses?" Kevan asked in incredulity. "This is Stannis we are speaking of. The man will break before he bends."

"I've been in correspondence with him for some time. In his latest letter, he's no longer threatening to behead me and is slightly more courteous than in the past. And I have something that he and his red witch want."

"And what is that?" Tywin resumed his glare, although not with the same intensity.

"That will be revealed at the proper time. It wouldn't do to reveal all my tricks to everyone who asks. Suffice it to say I have knowledge that few possess. Having the man on my side will be an invaluable asset."

"I still hold great skepticism that your gamble will pay off." Tywin responded, but he did not dismiss it out of hand.

"I held off Renly long enough for you to arrive, with green troops and one eighth his numbers. I kept the battle from being lost even after the gates were breached, something almost no one can claim. Stannis did not add his fleet to his brother's, an act that would have certainly doomed our efforts. I consider it a positive sign."

"Very well, I will see if this. . . move of yours will work." Tywin scoffed. "If your gamble fails, all of us will suffer for it, and I will not allow my House to lose this war."

"Noted," Matthew gave a slight smirk. "I've also got a few ideas for economic development you may find interesting once victory is ours. In the meantime, it would be useful if we could duplicate these in the Westerlands. Be sure that no one, save for yourself, sees them until they arrive." Tywin nodded and departed. It was a risk, and even without interception, others would eventually begin copying his ideas.

Matthew had learned his lesson. He would no longer allow himself to look weak, not if he wished to improve things.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, all of this has been a very humbling experience for Matthew. Admittedly, having Joffrey in his head doesn't make the process any easier, but at least he isn't strong enough to wrest control away from him. Not that it stops him from making gambles, though in wartime, taking risks is a necessity.

I've already gotten a few hundred words done on the next chapter, so I may end up being able to post one more before the month is over. Current estimation for the length of this book is around 60 chapters, since there's a lot to cover.


	14. House of the Undying

"Robb Stark has taken Harrenhal, allowing his forces to point a dagger directly at our heart," Kevan Lannister announced. "With the Knights of the Vale officially declaring him King, they outnumber us in the field. It will take time to muster enough sellswords to match them."

"What are our best estimates for their forces in the field?" Matthew questioned, having been trapped in a Small Council meeting for hours. "And I would like to know how much longer it will take to rebuild the city."

"According to my spies, Stark now has forty-five thousand, not counting those who returned North to fight the Ironborn," Tywin informed. "Your Grace, I worry that you are taking this threat too lightly. We won a great victory, but the war is far from done."

"Something we're all guilty of." Matthew pointed out. "Didn't you assume Stark to be a green boy ready to flee after his first loss?" Tywin scowled at Tyrion, assuming his hated son to be the source of Matthew's information. "The same was said of you once. Now his blunder regarding Theon has cost him, though not enough to remove him as a threat."

"It will take months before we can raise a new host in the Westerlands, allowing them to burn and pillage at will." Kevan looked through the reports. "The Riverlands are eager for the opportunity at revenge and the Blackfish is a capable commander."

"For this reason, I recommend you change your mind about sending Loras Tyrell to the Night's Watch, Your Grace." Tywin declared. "The Reach is weakened, but they still possess the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms. We cannot afford, for instance, a marriage alliance between Margaery and Stark."

"I'm concerned about what sort of message that will send." Matthew reminded. "If we bring them into the fold after they attempted to put a puppet ruler on the throne, what will the rest of the realm think?"

"Two of Mace Tyrell's children are still hostages to the Crown, and he values their lives." Tywin reminded. "Already the first of the ransoms are being paid, allowing us more than enough funds to repair what Renly damaged."

"Perhaps I can agree to suspend the sentence, in exchange for a generous repayment." Matthew considered. "Say, 50,000 gold dragons."

"Do you intend to bankrupt the Reach, nephew?" Tyrion wondered, speaking up for one of the few times since the meeting started. He'd spent most of his time alternating between glaring at his father and staring at the wall, instead of the quips Matthew was accustomed to.

"It wouldn't break my heart, considering what they attempted." Matthew shrugged. "Besides, with the money I have coming in, we'll be able to transform this city into the jewel of Westeros within ten years." _Assuming it's not burned to the ground, at least. _

"Your Grace, when your enemies bend the knee, you must help them back to their feet." Tywin instructed. "Else no man will ever bend the knee to you. If forced to fight to the death, they can and will inflict great harm before they are finished."

"I don't intend to destroy them, just weaken them, but I take your point." Matthew conceded. "I expect the Tyrells will agree, though certainly they will attempt to be the real power behind the Iron Throne regardless."

"I would expect nothing less of the Queen of Thorns. Yet your gamble with Dorne is a dangerous one. Doran Martell will not send his troops North, even if he does agree to your terms."

"I'm considering more long-term plans, ones I don't want the Martells interfering with." Matthew knew perfectly well it might not work, but unlike the others, knew what was waiting for them across the Narrow Sea. "Would you propose a match between myself and Margaery. While it holds a superficial appeal, I would consider that tantamount to surrender."

"They will want major concessions if an alliance is possible."

"Then how about Jaime? Release him from the Kingsguard, and suggest a match between him and Margaery. It'll put an end to the false rumors about my parentage once and for all." On that at least, Matthew enjoyed inflicting a bit of torment on Joffrey as payback for dealing with him in his dreams every night.

"We first need to ensure he escapes Stark captivity alive." Tyrion warned. "Given your actions at Harrenhal, his men may butcher him." Tywin's face went red at the thought.

"Were it not for your incompetence, Jaime would already have been freed." Tywin fumed.

"One thing at a time." Matthew interjected before it could turn vicious between them. "It doesn't have to be immediate, but dangling the prospect to Mace will at least convince him to hold off on any possible Stark alliances. Besides, knowing you as I do, I'm certain you have other ways to get him freed."

"Perhaps." Was all Tywin was willing to concede. "Kevan, I need a competent commander in charge of our defenses. Therefore, I am returning you to Casterly Rock to bring down Stark's raiders at all costs."

"I am at your command, brother." Kevan agreed. "I will leave on the morrow."

"Let us not forget the Stark words: Winter Is Coming." Matthew recited. "According to my last conversation with Pycelle, the South Star has disappeared. This means winter will be arriving shortly, and perhaps has arrived already." Having two different calendars was a little confusing to Matthew, but he'd learned to work within it. "The North will be far more affected by winter than us, as we have access to the Reach and the Free Cities."

"And the longer the summer, the more terrible the winter." Tywin nodded in understanding. "However, that does nothing to stop him from plundering the Westerlands."

"Victories are not always quick. Is he going to have the strength to take King's Landing? You know the capabilities of your bannermen better than I do."

It took Tywin several minutes to answer. "Not in the short-term, no. Tyrion's tribesmen can force the Vale knights to keep most of their strength within their territory. Stark has yet to lose a battle, but there are other ways to win a war. However, we cannot take the possibility lightly. Unlike Renly, he will know better than the storm the city."

"So we allow disease and famine to run its course. I'm fairly certain Robb wishes to bait your bannermen into departing from the capital to defend their lands. Have you heard such mutterings?"

"I have, but no one would disobey my orders." Tywin responded sternly.

"Some of the damage will be unavoidable. When winter comes, we will be reliant on imports. However, that is an option we have that Stark does not. If I remember my history lessons correctly, warfare is difficult and rare in the winter years."

"Correct, but not unheard of." The more times Matthew spent reading up Westeros' history, the more liberties he found that the author took with it.

"So what we're likely to end up with is a war of attrition." _Once Mance Rayder begins assaulting the Wall, Robb will have to pull back more of his troops. _

"Perhaps." Tywin considered.

"Do we have any further news about Daenerys' whereabouts? Without a Master of Whisperers, intelligence is proving difficult." _Trying to remember: is Ser Friendzone still spying on Daenerys for us? _

"Last I heard, she has just departed Qarth. Without her Dothraki husband, Daenerys is no threat to us."

"I expect to be appraised of any changes."

Tywin turned to his son and brother. "Leave us. I wish to speak to the King alone." Both complied without a word, though Tyrion took the opportunity to cast a final hateful glare toward his father.

"What do you need, Grandfather?" Matthew told himself not to squirm. He could still firm in the face of Tywin Lannister, but it was still not an easy task.

"I've looked over the designs you used in the defense of the city. I am most curious as to how you developed them."

"When we were in imminent danger, I looked around for anything to give me an edge in the coming battle. Braavos was willing to assist for the right price, I had a few ideas, and it turned out to be a success."

"Yes." Tywin gave Matthew his most potent stare. "They tried to obtain funding from me a decade ago, during the Greyjoy Rebellion. The tubes were useless, the powder weak, inferior to trebuchets, and more dangerous to their operators than anyone else. How did you provide solutions so quickly?"

"Most of the work was already done. I merely provided a few suggestions." Matthew knew he was a bad liar, not a trait that functioned well for Westeros.

"A few suggestions? This is a completely new weapon, one with enormous implications for the future. You're telling me you alone were able to add a different metal, different design, a method of increasing the force of this powder, along with their mobility."

"I never claimed to do it on my own." Matthew evaded, briefly breaking eye contact before reminding himself not to look weak.

Tywin hmphed, not believing his words for a moment. "I promise you, Joffrey, I will find out what you are concealing from me." He followed his brother and son out the Small Council chamber.

Matthew let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. _Shit. _If Tyrion could discover the truth, odds were good Tywin would put everything together as well. _And then what am I going to do? _

Deciding to push the worry aside for now, Matthew all but ran out of the Small Council chamber, his Kingsguard following as always. He no longer resented their presence, understanding that his life depended on it.

Before his next duty, Matthew mounted his horse, deciding to see how progress was going. The smell of the city barely affected his nose now, human and horse excrement now merely part of the landscape.

"All hail King Joffrey! Hail to the King!" Smallfolk scattered and cheered as he passed by. Not all greeted Matthew with such jubilation, but a good many.

_To think not long ago, these people wanted me dead. And all it took was saving their entire city to win them over. _Matthew observed those around him, both searching for possible assassination attempts and to witness improvements in their health.

Prices of food had fallen, although they were still higher than before the war broke out. Fewer beggars on the street, more smallfolk with full bellies. A few smallfolk still cursed Matthew, but he ignored them.

Prisoners who worked on tunnels in the center of the streets threw hateful glares at him, but said nothing. Already urine and excrement were falling into them, allowing the rest of the streets to be clearer.

_Once these tunnels are done, King's Landing ought to be a bit cleaner. _It wasn't nearly as good as a proper sewer system, but was still an important step toward modernization. Matthew eyed them, having chosen locations where the waste would flow out into Blackwater Bay.

Gaps on the walls were still visible despite efforts to repair them. Gold cloaks patrolled the street, watching Matthew with weariness, not wishing to be executed for corruption.

The line of brothels caught his eyes, Matthew making sure his presence was known. Tempting as it was to visit Alayaya again, it would have to wait for another time.

Matthew's horse stepped into puddles of human urine as they entered Flea Bottom. His Kingsguard scowled, worried about his safety in such a dangerous area.

_God, this place is a hellhole. _Unlike much of the city, its filth, danger, and decaying homes witnessed no improvement. Perhaps some of the money he obtained could be used to assist. _Course, if it's anything like projects back on Earth, there may be little point._

"All right, I've seen enough." Matthew decided after an hour. "Can't expect everything to be repaired overnight." With an overwhelming feeling of relief, he galloped back to the Red Keep, nearly trampling over a mother and child who were too slow to get out of the way.

Tycho Nestoris waited for him just outside, punctual as always. "I trust everything is going well, Your Grace." He gave a slight bow.

"Well as can be expected." Matthew responded. "If you would follow me. . ." He dismounted, marching towards the catacombs of the Red Keep. "I hope we have been able to increase production."

"Slightly, Your Grace. It will likely take years before we can produce these in significant numbers." Torchlight dimmed with each step, Matthew moving carefully to avoid tripping over his own feet.

"I hope you will be able to construct my new design as well." Matthew handed him a piece of paper. "Similar, so I believe it is possible."

"You are asking quite a lot of us, Your Grace," Tycho looked the paper over. "These weapons are neither easy nor cheap to construct."

"I didn't ask how much it cost; I asked if it can be built." Matthew interrupted. He'd hoped to start building muskets by now, but circumstances had prevented him.

"Yes, I have every confidence that such a design is possible." Tycho nodded, looking over Matthew's latest idea. Rather than a straight shot, it was designed to fire iron balls into the air. Matthew wasn't sure whether the proper name was a mortar or howitzer, but it didn't matter much to him. "However, I am curious as to why. They appear to be of limited field use, so who do you intend to use them against?"

"Dragons; I'd like to see Daenerys' beasts survive one of these babies." Matthew placed his hand against the cannon he'd ordered placed inside with a slight laugh. Six-pounders were all he had currently, though it would change in a couple weeks.

"Your Grace, you mean to use them against. . ."

"Sooner or later, Daenerys will cross these shores and try to take back her father's throne." Matthew nodded. "I don't intend to let that happen and since scorpions require a lucky shot to cause serious damage, I'm going to try something new. They might be small now, but that will change."

"Your Grace, I don't believe young Daenerys will be returning to a continent she possesses no memory of." Barristan pointed out, hesitant to kill a young girl. Matthew kept him and Balon around at all times, preferring their company to most others. "Perhaps it is best to focus on your current enemies."

"Most interesting to hear you say that, Your Grace." Tycho responded as the cannon was carefully set down from the drop. Not that Matthew expected serious damage, but he wasn't going to take unnecessary chances.

"And why is that?" Matthew paid more attention to the dragon skulls and bones surrounding the room. _God, imagine facing one of these on the field. _They varied in size, but even the smaller ones had a head the size of Matthew's body.

"The Free Cities have been stockpiling dragon eggs since the news of their return in this world." Tycho informed.

"I've heard nothing about this." _I need a new Master of Whisperers. _Matthew clutched his Warhammer, wondering if this was one of Varys' hiding places. He'd had little luck locating the secret passageways with what little time he could spare trying to find them, and ordering others to do so would give the game away.

"They seem to believe that if she could hatch three dragons, other eggs will hatch as well. Particularly Volantis, as they still possess strong Valyrian ancestry."

"And the city with the greatest population of slaves." Matthew added, knowing it was a sore spot for the Braavosi. "Considering Jaehaerys threatened to burn your city down if any eggs did hatch, it's at least possible they'll succeed. All the more reason to find out if these things work."

_Holy Mother of God! _Matthew stopped dead at the sight of Balerion's skull. The claims Balerion could swallow a mammoth whole were something of an exaggeration. Looking upon the mount of Aegon the Conqueror, Matthew discovered they weren't much of an exaggeration.

_He must have been the size of a jumbo jet, judging from the size of the skull in comparison to the rest of his body. _Matthew felt his muscles seize up at the mere sight of his skull. He could only imagine how Westeros felt having to fight such creatures in the field.

"This looks like the perfect target." Matthew nodded his assent, watching the operators set the cannon up at the opposite side of the room, kicking stones aside. "Everyone plug your ears as much as you can." In a confined space, he knew it wouldn't do to muffle the noise.

Matthew studied the cannon being loaded, his mind forming anti-dragon tactics. Looking at Westerosi history, he was astonished no one had bothered to try anything but shooting scorpions into the air and hoping for the best. "I'll have to do better than that." He muttered. Barristan and Balon looked at him, but he did not elaborate.

Everyone not operating the cannon moved as far away as they could from the danger zone. Matthew braced himself for the sound, hoping the test would be a successful one.

Balerion's snout shattered into a hundred pieces, flying bits of bone putting Matthew's entourage into more danger than the cannon had. He stepped closer to get a detailed look at the damage.

_Most impressive, and more than I expected. _Matthew stared at the skeleton, now deprived of many of its teeth. The cannonball hadn't quite destroyed the optical bones, but definite cracks were visible.

"All right, the good news is we know this will work better than a scorpion." Matthew clapped his hands. "But let's keep this in context. When the time comes, we're not going to be shooting at a 200-year-old skull. We've got to hit a moving target in the air."

"Certainly the dragons, provided your prediction is correct, will not be anywhere near this size." Tycho commented, his hearing not yet recovered from the blast.

"Best to prepare for the worst-case scenario." Matthew instructed. "Despite its limitations, we did pass the first test." _Now I need to know the ranges of dragonfire. Expect it would vary based on the age and strength of the dragon, along with wind conditions, flight speed, etc. _He doubted the Targaryens recorded them in any detail, not wanting their enemies to devise any effective counters.

_"_**Tell them to build faster or else you'll begin cutting their hands off! Enough of these, and I'll be invincible!" **

_I could have done without listening to you in my head. _More often than not, Matthew ignored him, but sometimes Joffrey was incredibly aggravating. Not that he was wrong; construction of the new weapons proceeded at a frustratingly slow pace. Sadly, Matthew could not simply come up with a design and quickly reach the point where it could be mass produced.

"Your Grace, I understand your concerns, but her dragons will not be able to fight for some years yet." Balon reminded. "You have current enemies to fight. Perhaps best to focus on them."

"These will serve just as well against Robb." Matthew pointed out. With the Vale joining him, Stark had three Kingdoms backing him. All he had was the Westerlands and part of the Stormlands. He turned to Tycho and asked: "Has Braavos made progress with my designs?"

"We have, though how you discovered so many is a subject of curiosity." Tycho admitted. "You have more than proven you can back up your claims."

"Good, because there's plenty more I'd like to implement." Matthew laughed. He didn't have time to experiment with all of them, so military designs came first.

_We'll beat Daenerys when the time comes. And whoever lies in wait beyond the Wall. _Matthew no longer had to fake his confidence.

**"And Westeros will be ours!" **Joffrey laughed. The prospect sounded. . . better than Matthew would have liked.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Where am I? _Daenerys questioned, the torch providing her only just enough light to see her way around. She listened intently for her dragons' cries, desperate to save her children.

That being said, she was certain following Pyat Pree wasn't a smart thing to do. "What are you showing me?" Daenerys demanded.

Pyat turned around with a small smile on his face. "Follow me and find out if you wish to see your dragons again." His laugh was inhuman, chilling her to the bone.

Daenerys' heart full of dread, turning around to find the exit, only to learn it had disappeared. _If I look back, I am lost. _She could not abandon her dragons to whatever they had in mind for them.

Sounds came from each of the doors, Pyat disappearing around the corner. Daenerys rushed to follow him, but found nothing. "Sorcery," she mouthed. There was no other explanation.

_I'll rescue my children. _Daenerys promised herself. No matter what it took.

She pushed against one of the doors, finding that it gave instantly. A silver-haired man held his small wife, keeping his grip gentle to avoid hurting her.

_"We can have a third child," the woman pleaded with him. _

_ "You barely survived the last birth," The man shook his head. "I can't put you through that again. This requires three." _

_ "Why do you care so much about that damned prophecy?" She snapped, Daenerys having the distinct impression the couple had gone through this before. _

_ "I know what's about to happen; the three heads of the dragon." He pleaded with her. "And I'm sorry. I know you aren't happy with. . ._

_ "I don't understand you half the time." She gave a sad look. "But you don't have to. . ." _The scene came to an abrupt end, the door slamming before Daenerys could make out anything else.

She continued down the hallway, tempted to see what the other doors held. Yet only her children interested her now. _I am the blood of the dragon. _

A pair of giant bronze doors appeared at the end of the hallway, their cries echoing through Daenerys' ears. Her eyes transfixed on the doors, knowing how close she was to reuniting with them.

"Not that door; stay away!" Pyat demanded. "If you wish to see, follow me." Daenerys could not tell where the voice was coming from but refused to listen to a word he said.

The bronze doors were easily four times taller than her, Daenerys only just able to reach the hinges. However, the door opened far more easily than its size would suggest.

Her torch allowing a clear view, Daenerys looked upon the sight with awed eyes. The room was. . . familiar in a way. Dust covered the floor, with shattered pillars and large gaps in the ceiling.

But it was the center she was interested in. _Could that be? _Daenerys had been told the Iron Throne was cast from 1,000 swords. Studying the chair carefully, it wasn't nearly that size, but impressive nonetheless.

_What happened here? _The dust or snow or whatever it was was deep enough for Daenerys' feet to leave deep footprints. She gravitated toward the Iron Throne, awed in its presence despite knowing none of this was real.

Her birthright. The throne stolen from her family by the Usurper. Viserys often spoke of it, back when he was still kind to her.

Daenerys cautiously touched it, her hand brushing against one of the arms. It felt. . . warm, inviting, like it was made for her. "Maybe it'll let me. . ." She considered, climbing onto the throne and sitting herself upon it. Daenerys felt a rush of power at the action, as if it was made for her. _It's rightfully mine, after all. _And when the time came, Daenerys intended to take it back.

Daenerys thumped her fingers against the throne, already imagining what she could do as queen. She'd seen many injustices in her young life and once the Throne was hers, they could be corrected.

Shadows appeared in front of the throne, Daenerys telling herself not to fall for any tricks. Her eyes felt a sharp flash of light, taking a moment to recover from the onslaught.

When Daenerys could see again, she witnessed a large number of men and women, covered in scars and blood. A few of them were missing limbs, but all focused their attention on her.

"All hail Daenerys, mother of dragons!" They called out, bowing before her and chanting. Daenerys stared at them, enjoying their admiration yet frowning her lips at their injuries.

"Is there. . . anything I can do?" She whispered. Their injuries were far beyond Daenerys' ability to treat, but she would try nonetheless.

No sooner did Daenerys remove herself from the Iron Throne than the scene changed. She fell to her hands and knees, praying that she would not be trapped inside forever.

When the scene changed, Daenerys stared at another group of smallfolk, frightened and haunted. _Why am I seeing this? _There was nothing she could do to help, however much Daenerys wished otherwise.

At their center was a dark-skinned man, offering them gentle words and healing for those who required it. Daenerys gave a relieved sigh, grateful that someone could offer them comfort.

As she approached, Daenerys spotted a string in the back of the dark-skinned man's neck, going up into the sky. She paused, unable to explain such a strange sight, wondering what game the warlocks were playing.

Yet Daenerys could not bring herself to ignore their plight. She was determined to assist them, real or not.

When she looked down at a young child begging for food, the previously friendly man snarled at her. Daenerys jumped back, startled at such hostility.

The man grabbed a hammer, swinging at her in incoherent rage. Daenerys dodged the first strike, but tripped over her own feet just before the second. He stared at her with cold hatred, determined to end her life.

_I am the blood of the dragon. _Daenerys repeated. She would never be that frightened girl again. However, her eyes unconsciously closed, body braced for what would surely be a terrible wound.

A clang made her shudder, daring to see why she had not yet perished. A silver sword deflected the man's blows, forcing him to retreat.

"Thank you, my. . ." Daenerys lost her voice at the sight of him. He was a man. . . and yet not one. The left side of his body was consumed by fire, the right side by ice.

He turned his head, lips curling with worry. "Daenerys. . . you need to leave before its too late."

_How does he know my name? _Daenerys wondered, but she knew better than to stay around. _I've been lured into a trap. I should have known!_

She pulled on the doors with all her might, praying they were still willing to budge. Daenerys rushed out as soon as the gap was large enough, leaving those who wished to harm her trapped behind.

_Now what? _Daenerys had dropped her torch in the struggle, forcing her to continue blind. She listened intently for the dragon's cries, her love the only thing keeping her from trying to flee.

Daenerys stuck her arms out, feeling around the corridor, looking back every few seconds to make sure those inside the great room did not follow. Her heart felt ready to rip itself out of her chest, knowing each step could be her last.

_I should never have agreed to go alone. _Daenerys swore she would find a way out and repay the Thirteen for their treason.

Her dragon's cries echoed in the distance. Heedless of her safety, Daenerys sprinted toward them, ignoring the small part of her brain warning that it was another trap.

Like the previous doors, the black and green ones were easily opened. In the center of the room lay Drogon, Rheagal, and Viserion. Daenerys expressed a single tear, overjoyed to find her children.

_They're growing so big already. _Drogon was nearly her size, perking up at the sight of his mother. Viserion and Rheagal were slightly smaller but no less eager to see Daenerys.

She struggled with the cage doors, looking over the lock. Char marks were visible on it, weakening the chains slightly, but not enough to where Daenerys could successfully pry them apart.

"Hello, mother of dragons." Voices echoed, the chamber lighting up with torches. Surrounding Daenerys were several men and women of various ages.

"Release me and my dragons at once!" Daenerys demanded.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't allow that," Pyat Pree shook his head. "I've been waiting for such an opportunity for so long."

"Why have you done this? What do you want with my children?"

"Children. . . children. . ." The voices repeated, Daenerys unsure whether they were real or not.

"I see many things, mother of dragons." Pyat continued. "Many futures, futures I will not allow. This chamber is where you must remain. . . forever."

_NO! _Daenerys charged Pyat, only to be held back by some invisible force. She felt herself crash to her hands and knees, muscles refusing to obey her commands.

"Pathetic; how could you have ever believed you would accomplish anything?" Pyat laughed. "Welcome to your new home, Daenerys Targaryen."

At those words, Drogon burned the lock on the cage, repeatedly bashing his body against it, heedless of the injuries it inflicted. Roaring, desperate, the cage door finally gave way.

Pyat attempted to flee, only for Drogon to roar and launch the largest column of flames he had yet managed. Viserion shrieked, taking bites out of the man's flesh. Rheagal made no sound at all, a second stream of fire the only indication of his actions.

His screams could only just be heard through the flames, Pyat's body collapsing after a few moments. Drogon roared in triumph, Viserion and Rheagal surrounding Daenerys.

The men and women around them did not so much as move a muscle. "Three treasons you will know. . . once for blood. . . once for gold. . . and once for love."

Viserys died in a pool of molten gold. Daenerys witnessed a massive young man strike down his silver-haired opponent with a Warhammer. A feeble man with a beard down to his knees spoke to those beside him: "Burn them all!" The knight in silver armor shoved his sword in the man's back before cutting down those who attempted to get away.

Faster and faster the visions came, Daenerys' mind having no time to deduce their meaning.

_Two dragons circling each other, one black, one red, fighting to the death. . ._

_ A shadow murdering nearby wolves. . ._

_ Two identical women staring at Daenerys; the first with a smile angelic and inviting, the second cruel and hateful. . ._

_ A great stone beast taking flight from a smoking tower. . . _

_ A cloaked figure falling to a dagger in the back. . ._

_ Thousands of bloodstained hands raised, calling: "Mother! Mother!. . ._

_ A group of dragons in a circle consumed by a cloud of smoke. . ._

_ Sounds of innocents burning alive, with the sobs of those who watched. . ._

Daenerys fled, unable to endure any more. Her dragons followed, ready to slaughter anyone who dared try to stop them.

Her next memory was that of Jorah Mormont carrying her to safety.


	15. Escape

"Might I beg a moment of your time, Your Grace?" Margaery Tyrell questioned, bending the knee slightly.

"What can I do for you?" Matthew responded, keeping the anger off his face.

"Might we speak in private?" Margaery eyed the Kingsguard.

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them." Matthew allowed no room for argument.

"I. . . wish to apologize for Renly's actions, Your Grace." Margaery's eyes watered. "We thought he would be the best King and with the false rumors about you, and Stannis' actions. . ."

"I'm not buying it, so cut the tears." Matthew scoffed, seeing through the act. "And you're going to tell me you and the rest of your family were too stupid to see through Renly's veneer? Perhaps the subtleties of politics are lost on me, but that does seem rather convenient. Renly sits the Iron Throne as a puppet while your family are the real powers in the Seven Kingdom."

"Your Grace, surely that is an exaggeration. While Highgarden does possess the strongest army in the Seven Kingdoms even now, we could not hope to control all of Westeros."

"Yes, an army that was shattered on the Blackwater." Matthew spotted the implied threat. "Were you victorious, you would be Queen, not a guest."

"You have shown us all great hospitality, Your Grace." Margaery bowed again. "And I also wish to thank you for not sending my brother Loras to the Night's Watch. He is still quite young, and it would be a waste of his talents for him to reside there."

On that at least, Matthew felt she was sincere. "No doubt he is still grieving for his lost love." Preston Greenfield let out a vicious smirk at that. "I can temper justice with mercy, though there were those who mistook it for weakness."

"You've been nothing but kind to all of us, Your Grace. My lord father will be pleased to hear this."

"No doubt he will. I'm also sure he will be pleased to note his family are still Wardens of the Reach. Your Kingdom is quite powerful, but also ripe for the picking."

"Your Grace, if I may be so bold, we would make far better allies than enemies. My lord father still wishes to see his legacy through, and my grandmother. . ."

"You made the decision to become my enemy when you threatened to doom Westeros to fratricidal wars. The smallfolk have suffered greatly as a result, so I recommend staying inside the Red Keep. When times are miserable, people want someone to blame."

"Surely you cannot still hold a grudge, Your Grace? We have forgiven the Crown's debt and the ransoms are being paid. You still possess other enemies. Robb Stark has yet to lose a battle."

"Well, I think we've threatened each other enough for the morning. I presume you have a proposal for me."

"I do. I believe a reconciliation between our Houses would be in the interests of both of us. Of course, we need a reason to build our budding friendship." Matthew couldn't hold back a scoff at that.

"You mean to crown yourself Queen, do you?" Matthew admitted it was a tempting prospect. Arienne Martell was a gamble to derail her father's plans, one that had every possibility of backfiring on him. "Interesting; you conspire with my enemies to overthrow, yet here you are now, offering a marriage alliance."

"Surely the prospect does not displease you, Your Grace?" Margaery gripped his hand with her own. "I cannot imagine I am that unpleasant to look at, and I am still a virgin. Renly's attractions meant that he never shared my marriage bed."

"Certainly the tales of your beauty were no exaggeration, My Lady." Matthew gave a slight nod. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen, Your Grace. I know some might consider me an old maid, but. . ."

"It's perfectly fine." Older than the book Margaery, but younger than the television show. "Not all of us can be married so young. However, I do have a few concerns. My father pardoned you, yet you waged war against his son and heir. I don't wish to repeat his mistake."

"A union of our two houses would have us both invested in the future. I could be a good wife to you, Your Grace."

_Wonder how long it would take your grandmother to poison me. _Still, Matthew knew he couldn't write off the idea, and risks were a necessity in politics. "I'm certain you could. Many of my advisors, however, would see it differently. They would say that offering a former enemy so much will make me look weak in the eyes of my vassals. No, I'm going to need to see some proof of sincerity first."

"We have already provided funds for your war. What more do you wish?"

"That was in exchange for not being executed as traitors. You aren't the only one who wishes to be Queen. Sansa Stark has proposed it on numerous occasions to promote peace between our respective houses. Arienne Martell is another, as I have been speaking with her father about the possibility." He'd gotten no response, but Margaery didn't need to know that.

"The Martells?" Margaery's eyes widened. "You would be willing to marry such a loose woman? Tales of her exploits have reached Highgarden and beyond."

"It matters less than is commonly believed. I have it on good authority that many women at court were not maids when they married. And Dorne held their ground against Aegon the Conqueror, a feat no one else can claim."

"Perhaps we can invite my father to King's Landing, as an offer of sincerity. I do not have the authority to negotiate on his behalf."

"Very well, send a raven and give me a response." Matthew considered it likely such a response would be as delayed as well. "I would appreciate a prompt reply, My Lady."

"Thank you for your time, Your Grace." Margaery nodded and departed.

"You truly mean to side with the Dornish, Your Grace?" Trant spoke with disgust.

"I'll do what it takes to put an end to this conflict." Matthew responded, his mind going through possibilities. No matter what, however, he had to prevent a Stark-Tyrell alliance. If Robb joined forces with the Reach, they were all dead.

_Use the Reach's forces to make the Martells behave themselves. Use the threat of Dorne to keep the Reach in check. Considering how long they've been enemies, it'll be a delicate balancing act. _Matthew didn't fancy facing Robb on the field, at least not until he could build enough cannons for a decisive battle.

Least he'd heard, Stark had made no moves toward King's Landing since seizing Harrenhal, with the Tully and Lannister forces butchering each other in the Westerlands. Matthew knew the claims that attacks from tribes in the Vale prevented a large deployment of knights, but was still unsure how true the information was.

He marched through the Red Keep, intending for everyone at court to notice his presence. Matthew studied each lord, lady, and servant for their responses. Winning over everyone was hopeless, though he no longer expected imminent treason. _Still best not to let my guard down, however. _

Matthew stood at the drawbridge, looking down the see the long trench being constructed to remove waste from King's Landing to Blackwater Bay. _Another couple weeks and it should be done. _Prisoners knew better than to disobey him and the noble prisoners he still held always had the threat of physical labor hanging over them.

"Your Grace, you have done quite well in rebuilding the city," Balon complimented.

"Thank you, although my Uncle inflicted significant damage," Matthew acknowledged the compliment. "I expect it'll be several years before I can improve things the way they need."

Matthew turned away, marching to the Master of Coin's office. Tyrion had urgently wanted to speak to him, though he refused to disclose specifics. _Perhaps he's finally found something. _

"I was expecting you to arrive hours ago, Your Grace," Tyrion commented. Bronn stood at his side, staring at Matthew with an expression impossible to decipher.

"Matters of state; you said there was something important you need to discuss."

"Yes, my payment," Bronn interjected. Barristan and Balon moved their hands to their swords. "I've been quite patient with you so far."

"You will refer to the King as 'Your Grace', cutthroat." Trant warned. Bronn looked at him with amusement.

_Right, his payment. _In truth, Matthew had overlooked Bronn, as he was ultimately not responsible for killing Renly.

"I think we can arrange something." Matthew agreed. "Another one thousand gold dragons and a castle in the Crownlands recently vacated. I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."

"You promised me an additional ten thousand gold dragons."

"If you did the job, which you did not. Consider this my thanks for the risk you took in my service. I'm being more than generous with you." If Bronn continued to push things. . . well, there were always more sellswords.

"I have important news, so compare your cocks another time." Tyrion interjected. Bronn and Matthew both let out a single chuckle, Barristan scowling at his crudeness.

"Out with it, Tyrion." Matthew demanded. Tyrion urged them inside, Matthew seeing more terror than he'd ever recalled spotting on the Imp.

"It took a long time, but I finally deduced what Littlefinger had been doing since becoming Master of Coin. At first, I thought he was merely borrowing the money Robert spent to put the crown deeper into debt and embezzling what he could. It's far worse than that, Your Grace."

"What could be worse?" Matthew questioned.

"I had to dig and dig through thousands of financial documents before I found out the pattern. He increased the Crown's debt, but the money he stole was reinvested. Multiple times, in fact."

"So he. . ." Matthew began putting the pieces together.

"The money he borrowed from various sources, like my father and the Iron Bank, he lended out in turn to others. Low interest rates, so he could get people to accept them. Lords, ladies, peasants, even some from Essos. . . at first I thought he was investing in people who couldn't hope to repay. Then I realized this was intentional."

"How did no one catch him?" Littlefinger's plan was starting to sound quite familiar.

"Robert spent great sums of money on tourneys and feasts, mostly too drunk to care what was happening in his court." Rather than the snark Matthew expected from Tyrion, the dwarf spoke with supreme bitterness instead. "Much of the money was loaned five or six times to various people, not all of whom I have been able to track down."

"How much debt is there in total?"

"I cannot say for sure, but if what I have found out is any indicator, far more than what is possible to repay. Even the Iron Bank and my father. . ." Tyrion cringed his deformed face in horror. "They couldn't do it, either."

"An economic bubble. . ." Matthew whispered, having not intended to say that out loud. _This is going to be very, very bad. _Memories of the ones he lived through entered his mind, the burst at least partially responsible for the war.

"Interesting turn of phrase, nephew."

"So in other words, we're fucked." Bronn spoke what everyone in the room was thinking.

"If we start calling in debts that can't be repaid, and others start doing the same. . . I was too merciful with Littlefinger."

"It gets worse. Baelish built this house of cards not only in Westeros, but in the Free Cities as well. I expect it will not take much for it to crumble. The crown's revenues have plummeted since the war began. If not for the ransoms and your deal with Braavos, it is likely this disaster would have already started."

"Can you think of any way to prevent it or at least mitigate the effects?" If they were lucky, the bubble would be a gradual deflation. If it burst. . . _I can't be certain what the effects will be. Westeros' economy is very different from a modern one. _

"Avoiding panic would be a good start. Not that I expect any such thing to happen." Tyrion sneered bitterly. "Once the news gets out, merchants and moneychangers will panic, accelerating our demise. Perhaps at least I will get to see my father ruined in the process." He let out a satisfied laugh.

"This information never leaves the room." Matthew ordered. "Is that understood?" he looked around at Tyrion, Bronn, and the Kingsguard. All of them gave a vow of silence. "In the meantime, we work quietly on reducing at least some of the debt."

"I don't believe there will be any escaping the consequences." Tyrion crossed his arms.

"If you have an alternative, please tell me." Matthew challenged. Tyrion shook his head, worrying Matthew more. _So I'm in the middle of a war and we're on the verge of an economic collapse. And here I thought things were beginning to look up. . . _"Thought as much. We keep this quiet, end the war, and pray to the Gods the consequences won't be a disaster."

"Good luck," Tyrion waved a hand mockingly, returning to his duties. Matthew noticed he lacked his usual quips and sarcastic remarks, but he had bigger issues to worry about.

_What the hell was Littlerfinger hoping to accomplish? _Matthew would have asked him if he wasn't a burnt corpse. _Was he intending to become King of Westeros once everyone was ruined and he could save the day? Or was this a petty grudge because Catelyn Stark didn't love him back? Maybe both, knowing Baelish. _Matthew thought back to the information he could remember, where Baelish had control of the Vale. Both of the above sounded plausible to him.

All the same, Matthew knew it couldn't be kept a secret forever. Tywin at least would have to know so he could minimize the effects on the Westerlands.

"Well, we've still got a war to win." Matthew spoke to his guards. "Best to focus on one disaster at a time."

XXXXXXXXXX

_None of these fools would dare be so arrogant if I had a sword in my hands. _Jaime Lannister thought, smirking at his captors mocking his position. He'd found his smiles made almost anyone who watched him nervous, keeping them off-balance.

Not that it would do him any good if the Northmen did decide to kill him. Karstark had been demanding Jaime's head from the very beginning, Robb being forced to separate Karstark's men from him, in case the worst happened.

_It was hardly my fault. Robb Stark was the one I wanted to kill. His sons were merely in the way. _Jaime felt no regret over cutting him down. They would happily have done the same to him.

He made himself as comfortable as the heavy chains would allow. Jaime looked over at the overflowing bucket full of excrement, which the Northmen hadn't bothered to empty. No doubt hoping he'd catch a disease and die, which they believed couldn't be blamed on them.

Jaime's thoughts wandered back to Bran, still amazed the boy lived despite the odds. He'd been certain such a fall would end his life, but apparently the Stark blood was stronger than he suspected.

_I wanted an hour alone with Cersei and he had to interfere with that! _Jaime watched his guards, knowing he could kill them all with a sword, armor or no. All the same, though Jaime would never admit it to anyone, he did feel regret over what he had done to Bran.

That didn't mean he wouldn't do it again under the same circumstances. What alternative had the boy given him? No lad his age was capable of keeping his mouth shut for long.

Jaime mentally shuddered at what would have happened once Bran spoke. Sooner or later, Robert would have gotten word of it. He, Cersei, and their children would have all been butchered in the King's rage. However unpleasant it was, Jaime considered it necessary. _For all his honor, I expect Stark would have done the same in my position. _

It still amazed Jaime the boy actually thought he could become King of the Seven Kingdoms. Stark had yet to lose a battle, at least if the boasting he had been forced to listen to was true. But the North was poor and remote, and even if Stark did manage to take the city, it would eat him alive.

_Every boy his age thinks he's invincible. _With little to do, save for sitting in a pile of hay and squalor, Jaime was given plenty of time to think. Of course, taunting the guards and Catelyn did provide a small medium of entertainment, but even that become supremely boring.

Jaime felt a clomp of dirt hit him in the forehead, to the laughter of his captors. "Try and fuck your sister now!" One of them taunted.

"Very brave to taunt a man in chains." Jaime returned. "Once I'm back on the field, I'll be sure to kill you first." The man froze up, while the other two drew their swords. Jaime broke out laughing at seeing them so frightened.

If truth be told, however, Jaime did not expect to leave his captivity alive. Oh, the Starks were honorable, but many of their bannermen weren't. He'd listened to numerous boasts about the smallfolk they'd killed and the women they raped. A few reminded Jaime of the mountain's men.

Most inside Harrenhal were either sleeping or celebrating their victories, based on the sound Jaime could hear. They were confident King's Landing would soon belong to him, which was a possibility he couldn't discount. Jaime realized he'd made the mistake of his life underestimating the Stark boy.

A pair of gasps caught Jaime's attention, seeing two of his guards collapse onto the ground. The third had time to draw his sword before dying. He blinked several times, unsure if he was going mad.

Half a dozen men moved toward his cage, breaking the lock and pushing the gate open. "My Lord, your father sent us to rescue you." One of them announced. In the center was Cleos Frey, showing more courage than Jaime would have expected from his half-Frey cousin.

Removing his chains took more work, but they swiftly managed. Jaime pushed to his feet, stumbling slightly as his legs got used to the sensation again. "My lord, we need to move quickly." One of them insisted. "If we delay, Stark will surely kill us all."

Cleos handed Jaime a sword, which he eagerly grasped. Once his hand wrapped around the hilt, he felt almost like his old self again. With little time to spare, Jaime rushed off, although not without spitting on one of his captor's corpses first.

Hundreds of torches could be seen throughout Harrenhal, but the massive ruin was too large to make lighting the area practical. _So long as we are quiet, we will be able to succeed. _Guards at the entrance could pose a problem, but with a sword, Jaime felt more confident than ever.

They stayed in the shadows, keeping silent footsteps. Jaime expected to be overwhelmed by Northmen at any time, but only a handful were seen.

However, he had no time to ponder this puzzle, not when freedom was so near. Jaime kept his sword ready, forcing himself to hold back from wrecking vengeance on those who tormented him.

He heard no commotion, informing him that so far, the escape was clean. "We will be free soon, cousin." Cleos promised.

"Hopefully I will have an opportunity to deliver my vengeance." Fighting didn't frighten Jaime; dying while powerless to fight back did. King's Landing was perhaps a fortnight's ride away on horseback.

_I'll finally see Cersei again. _Returning to his sister was the only thing convincing Jaime to go on during his darkest moments.

His breath quickened as they approached the gate. Many gaps existed in Harrenhal, but in the darkness, Jaime could not hope to locate them. The longer they lingered, the greater chance of being caught and killed.

"I trust there are horses waiting for us." Jaime whispered as loud as he dared. Without mounts, the attempt would be pointless.

"There are two men waiting near the river." Cleos informed.

Jaime paused at the sound of footsteps, gesturing for everyone to hide in the shadows. He could kill any individual guard, or even a small group of them, but the alarm would be raised.

Several Northmen laughed and joked to themselves, barely able to stand up. Four of them carried jugs of ale, with a fifth drinking directly from the pitcher. "We're going to be in King's Landing soon!" One shouted, clinking his jug with a comrade.

"No thanks to you; you've yet to kill anyone!" A second joked. The man cursed, throwing his ale onto the ground.

"I'm ten times the fighter you'll ever be!" He screamed, barreling into him. A third man fell alongside them, joining the fray. Those still standing watched, stumbling and making half-hearted attempts to end the fight.

Seizing the chance, Jaime creeped away, giving them an ironic thanks for providing such a useful distraction. If there was any commotion, they would get the blame for it.

From what Jaime could remember, their party was close to the gates. _You'd better come through for us on those mounts. _He couldn't believe his father trusted Cleos for this task.

Half a dozen men waited at the gates, with those above looking out on the battlements. "Best to move quickly." It would require split-second timing for a clean escape.

One turned around and shouted: "Lannister!" he was swiftly silenced by a crossbow bolt, but the message was sent. The others drew their sword, shouting and charging.

Jaime looked upon the three foes he was forced to fight. All were armored with chain mail and helmets, fresh and healthy. In contrast, he had spent nearly a year in chains, lacking even the most basic protection.

All three fell to his blade within eleven seconds. A member of his party was slain, although Jaime shoved his sword into the man's neck before he could do anything else.

"Move! Move!" Cleos screamed, their cover now blown. Jaime summoned all his strength, sprinting out of Harrenhal, praying they would have a sufficient head start.

Jaime's legs screamed at such swift movement, having been restrained for so long. In the dark, he could barely see the outline of the man in front of him, the light from Harrenhal becoming distant.

Screams and calls to action echoed from the castle ruin. Adrenaline overriding his protesting muscles, Jaime spurred the others to action. Cleos looked ready to collapse, something Jaime allowed a private scoff at.

"How are we supposed to find the horses in the dark?" One of his rescuers worried.

"You didn't consider that before?" Jaime felt like hitting him for his stupidity. The Starks weren't far behind and he doubted they would be inclined toward mercy. His first escape attempt failed; a second would lead to everyone's execution.

In the darkness, Jaime had only the barest idea where he was going. All he knew was that their escape had to be swift.

He dared a look behind him, spotting torches in the forest. Despite himself, Jaime laughed in relief. If his captors were carrying torches, they'd be visible from hundreds of meters away.

They smashed through the underbrush and trees, knowing better than to travel on any main road. "I'm certain it's this way." Cleos pointed in a random direction.

_Knowing him, he's likely to lead me back to the Starks. _Jaime scoffed. Having no other option, however, he followed. _The blind leading the blind. _His legs demanded rest, feeling ready to capsize, yet they could not afford to stop.

"We need to move quietly." Jaime instructed, grabbing the other's shoulders to make sure they understood. "No talking, not even whispering." They nodded, or at least it looked like they did.

The crescent moon provided only minimal light, hampering the efforts of friend and foe alike. Jaime allowed himself to be led to a nearby river, able to do nothing but hope his rescuers could find the horses in the dark.

"Shit!" Cleos turned around, spotting a handful of Northmen. Jaime braced himself for battle were they spotted, intending to take as many with him as he could.

_Why aren't they attacking us? _Jaime suddenly realized. Ten stood less than twenty feet away from his party, making them visible. He stuck his hand out, gesturing for the others to stay back.

One by one, the Northmen walked away, Jaime's eyes blinking in confusion. "By the Gods. . ." Had it been just his imagination?

"Come on, we don't have much time." Cleos responded, his face free of fear that Jaime anticipated at their presence.

_There's something going on here. All of this feels a bit too easy. _Jaime could not push the thought from his brain even once the horses were spotted.

"Thank the Gods; I'd thought they caught you." The man responsible for watching the horses proclaimed. "Long as we move quickly, they won't catch us." Out of all Jaime's rescuers, he was the only man wearing Lannister colors.

"I promise, you'll be well rewarded for your actions." Jaime gave a smile, nodding in respect to his courage. He climbed onto his horse without assistance, familiar instincts kicking in.

Jaime refused to depart until all his men were aboard horses. On horseback, they would have to stay on the trails, at least until light. Now, however, Stark would have little chance of recapturing him.

_I underestimated you once, Stark. _Jaime mused in anticipation of their next battle. _It won't be a mistake I'll make a second time. _

XXXXXXXXXX

My description of Littlefinger's economic maneuvering is my guess about what he's done in the books, which has been merely hinted out. Tyrion was one of the few to realize something deeper was going on; that he figured it out shortly before Joffrey's death would provide an additional motivation for Baelish.

And Jaime escaping rather than Catelyn Stark letting him go. . . we'll see what this does for his character development.


	16. Standing army

"We should have gutted the Kingslayer as soon as we caught him!" Richard Karstark bellowed at Robb. "You fool, you allowed him to escape! Why did I. . ." His rant was cut off by the Greatjon's fist in his gut, sending Karstark to his knees.

"Another word, and I'll gut you where you stand!" Greatjon warned, the man over twice Karstark's size.

"How did they manage to sneak in here and escort the Kingslayer out?" Robb demanded with quiet fury. Half a dozen people were dead, and Jaime was free, putting his sister in danger. For all his orders to recapture the man, Jaime had developed a considerable lead on them.

"Perhaps some of the guards were bribed to look the other way," Bolton suggested, facial expression unreadable as always.

"Question them. . . gently," Robb instructed. He wasn't about to torture his own men on mere suspicion.

"And what of Sansa?" Catelyn worried. "With the Kingslayer freed, they can do what they wish to her, and we have no recourse."

"We still have two squires." Robb reminded.

"Both of which must be killed as a lesson!" Karstark snarled, recovering from the blow. "If you do not execute them, then you'll be seen as weak. You spared Theon when his father attacked us and. . ."

"Enough," Robb spoke coldly, considering his options. "Send some men out to look for him. Make it clear I want him brought back here alive. It would be highly inadvisable to arrange any 'hunting accidents'."

"Your Grace, perhaps now is the time to march on King's Landing." Yohn Royce suggested. At sixty-one years old, he was the oldest individual in the room, as tall as the Greatjon, though not so wide. "You will never be stronger than you are now. The longer we wait, the stronger the Lannister's position will be. Edmure is already preventing Tywin from raising reinforcements from his land."

"Do we have enough supplies to last the journey?" Robb considered his options. Renly had failed in his efforts despite possessing over twice as many men. However. . . he had attempted to storm the city, something Robb knew was far too risky.

"The smallfolk will be able to provide supplies, given sufficient incentive." Bolton informed. "We can deny food from the Crownlands to King's Landing, which they cannot survive without."

"What of their forces?" Robb questioned Bolton, who was currently the closest to a spymaster he possessed.

"Similar to our own, perhaps slightly lower." Bolton responded. "But you have won numerous battles against worse odds. So long as you refrain from storming the gates, victory will be yours, Your Grace."

"Regretfully, we will not be able to spare many more men." Royce warned. "Lady Arryn is willing to avenge her good-brother's death, but many are tasked with hunting down the Imp's savages burning our villages and taking our women."

"I'm going to need them now." Robb sighed regretfully. The smallfolk would have to fend for themselves and retreat behind castles until he could avenge them.

"Your Grace, with all respect, I cannot allow those brutes to burn their way across the Vale with impunity." Royce refused.

"I understand your position, but if I am to take King's Landing, more men will be necessary."

"We could wait them out." Catelyn suggested. "The Lannisters are on their own, and we have all the power of the North, Riverlands, and Vale beside you. Joffrey is without allies and will grow weak."

"A woman's got no place at a war conference!" Karstark spat.

"Insult my mother again, and you will lose your tongue." Robb approached Karstark, faces mere inches apart. "If you have an alternative plan, tell me. I will tolerate no more insubordination."

Staring into Robb's cold eyes, Karstark lost his nerve. "Of course, Your Grace."

"There is little we can do to stop Jaime Lannister from reuniting the rest of his family." Robb concluded. _The Gods keep Sansa safe. _"But I defeated him once on the battlefield. I will do so again. Winter is coming, My Lords. It hits our lands hardest of all. This war must be brought to an end soon."

"Perhaps a betrothal with Margaery Tyrell." Catelyn suggested. "The Reach still have the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms. Tywin Lannister cannot hope to stand against all of us."

"Will they be so willing to take the field again after such a beating?" Bolton considered.

"The Reach has always been full of cowards." The Greatjon dismissed them. "They don't possess northern spirit!"

"Mace Tyrell's children are still hostages to the Iron Throne." Royce reminded. "He will make no move so long as his children are in danger."

"Staying at Harrenhal is what Tywin would expect us to do." Robb considered. A direct assault on the city would be futile. Even a siege would be impossible to sustain. "But I'm not going to let him control this war. King's Landing has half a million people. We can seize the farmland around the Crownlands and use it to sustain ourselves."

"We can't avoid a battle forever!" Greatjon insisted. "Make Tywin stop cowering behind the city, lure him out, and slaughter his men!" Catelyn frowned at this, though Robb was unsure why.

"Do you propose to storm the city the way Renly attempted?" Bolton asked.

"No, I won't send my men on a suicide mission." Robb refused. They argued over the details for most of the day, but in the end, ten thousand out of the seventeen thousand strong garrison inside Harrenhal were sent out to seize land in the Crownlands.

_I don't think it's going to be enough. _Robb admitted privately. Food from the Crownlands would be denied, but food from the Reach and the Stormlands would be uninterrupted. Tywin would not care how many smallfolk died for his ambitions.

He ran through countless scenarios in his head. An alliance with the Tyrells might be sensible, but they would first have to rescue Loras, Garlan, and Margaery from King's Landing. The North possessed no intelligence of the city, negating that option.

"Stalemate," Robb groaned out loud. The Lannisters couldn't take the offensive, but neither could he.

"Robb, I didn't want to say this in front of the others, but we received a letter." Catelyn informed quietly. As the news about her father kept getting worse, his mother's mood continued to darken. "We just received a letter from the Night's Watch. They've informed us that an army of wildlings intend to march on the Wall."

"How many?" Robb questioned, fearing for his half-brother. He would have given anything to see Jon at his side now.

"At least 100,000."

_They couldn't hope to stop an army like that. _Robb realized. The Night's Watch of old could, but it had long since fallen to less than 1,000 men, with only three out of nineteen castles still garrisoned.

And protecting the North was his responsibility. Many of those who remained, at least his bannermen, were either too old or too young to fight. "What am I do to, then? I can't abandon the field to the Lannisters."

"Nor can you allow the wildlings to ravage your lands." Catelyn advised.

"So what am I to do? I can't leave Sansa in their hands!" Robb cared little for the Iron Throne despite taking it being his technical goal. King's Landing could rot for all time, so long as he had his little sister back.

"The Iron Throne can wait. Your people need you in the North. They can't be abandoned for mere ambition."

"If it isn't one thing, it's another." Robb considered sending Theon to assist in their defense, but his friend was only barely tolerated. Wildlings were no match for seasoned fighters. . . of which there were now few in the North. Harrenhal provided a formidable barrier to Tywin, even as a ruin. The Ironborn and now Mance Rayder. . .

"Send a raven to Winterfell, have them assemble what men are still available to face him. The smallfolk will likely need to take up arms as well. I'll have to inform my bannermen and discuss how many we can spare, if any. And we'll move toward King's Landing. It's the last thing Tywin will expect and I want him shaking with fear." Robb would have been cruder, but could not say such things in front of his mother.

Seeing her worried face, Robb added: "And send a raven to Mace Tyrell proposing a match between myself and Margaery." He wasn't sure if the Tyrells would have any interest with three of their children hostage, but he would make the effort.

XXXXXXXXXX

"It appears as if Stark is making a move on the Capital after all." Tywin looked through the latest intelligence reports. Matthew slapped himself, trying to stay awake. A combination of nightmares from his wartime experience and Joffrey's torments made sleep very elusive for him.

"Perhaps he's getting too arrogant for his own good," Matthew suggested. "So far, Robb's won every battle. Easy to believe you're indestructible, especially at his age."

"A lesson you would do well to remember." Tywin advised. Matthew allowed himself a private laugh at the thought of the Lannister patriarch learning his true age. "Fortunately, my son has managed to free himself thanks to a few trusted men. More than you accomplished, dwarf."

"Being an eternal disappointment is more than worth it, father," Tyrion grasped the table, looking ready to charge across the table and physically pummel Tywin.

"Let's leave our private quarrels for when the war's over," Matthew once again kept them from tearing into each other. He'd never been more grateful to come from a loving family. "Any success raising a new host?"

"No, the Tullys have kept us off-balance, although it is at least tying down many of their knights. I hear you've been speaking with Lady Margaery."

"She seems interested in an alliance, provided of course she becomes Queen. The idea might have originated with Mace, but Margaery seems quite delighted at the prospect."

"With the Tyrells on our side, the Seven Kingdoms would belong to us."

"I wouldn't expect support from the Reach in the near future." Matthew mused. "Supporting Stark is a risk, one they won't take with three hostages. No, they'll sit back and wait to see which of us triumphs. Then they'll swoop in once the outcome is already decided and work behind the scenes to gain more influence. Highgarden is too powerful to ignore and the Tyrells know it."

"I've just been informed that Stark has sent a proposal to Highgarden to marry Margery Tyrell." Tywin informed, leaving Matthew momentarily dumbfounded. If he remembered correctly, Robb was supposed to marry a Frey.

"You seem remarkably unconcerned about this." Matthew studied Tywin.

"Wildlings are ready to march on his lands, the Ironborn are already raiding them, and belief in his cause weakens by the day. We are in a better position to form an alliance with Highgarden than him.'

"Isn't he supposed to be marrying a Frey? I can't imagine Walder will be happy to learn about this." 

"Walder's unaware of this. . . for now. Once he does learn of this, the Freys will return home and he won't have enough knights to face us."

Tyrion broke out in dark laughter. "Robb's humiliated you every time you faced him. Your only victory was against a half-broken army led by a green commander."

"And you have done nothing but drink and whore for more than a decade. You are a worthless, pathetic, loathsome little creature who possess nothing but quips and low cunning. The Gods have. . ."

"Enough!" Matthew slammed his fists on the table. "Tyrion, perhaps it would be best if we continue this discussion alone, so if you would excuse us. . ."

"Far be it from me to continue soiling my father's good name. That reminds me; there are a few whorehouses in King's Landing I've yet to visit."

"Out!" Matthew snapped. He hadn't intended such harshness, but he was growing weary of dealing with their constant quarreling. Tyrion cursed, hopping off his chair and slamming the door behind him.

"Now that my son is no longer a concern, perhaps we can accomplish something." Tywin sighed. "I have hired two sellsword companies from the Stormlands and several lords have already pledged fealty to you. In total, they will provide an addition 4,000 men."

"Not enough to be decisive, although it'll provide us with an advantage. At least my Uncle is free of their grasp for the time being. I'm curious as to how this was accomplished."

"Every man has his price, even those who claim to be honorable. I received a letter from the Queen of Thorns, demanding I release her grandchildren as a precondition to a marriage."

"I trust you turned her down."

"Do you take me for a fool, Your Grace?" Tywin stared at him. "Of course I refused, and made clear that if she wishes to negotiate terms, either she or her fool of a son must travel to King's Landing in person."

"That should be a lot of fun." Having Olenna in the Capital meant she could poison him. _Best not give her a reason. . . and watch her very carefully. _

"She is not to be underestimated. Her rudeness is a mere façade to keep her enemies off guard."

"No doubt Olenna still considers us foes. However, we do have another issue that must be dealt with." Matthew explained what Tyrion had discovered, warning of what Littlefinger had done during his time at King's Landing.

Throughout the entire conversation, Tywin's face grew colder, though he made no audible sound of rage. Despite himself, Matthew felt slightly intimidated. Once he finished talking, Tywin responded: "I never trusted the man, but I believed Baelish had only his own ambition in mind."

"Would have been a lot easier if he had. Baelish had Ned Stark killed, destroying any hope we had of making peace with them. I think he might have wanted to become King, squirreling away enough gold and gems on his land to buy supporters. Few others would have possessed such funds."

"We still have a war to win before we can worry about Baelish's games."

"Speaking of which, I have a few ideas for it. How many gold dragons do you currently possess?"

"What possible relevance does this have? Have you forgotten that I still have a war to win?"

"We," Matthew corrected. "And I believe you'll be interested in my proposal. We can turn the Westerlands into the dominant power on the continent. I'm sure you know the saying: 'The Iron Bank will have its due.' This proposal can provide them with a direct rival. Now how much gold do you currently possess?"

Tywin stared at him for over a minute before responding: "Right now, approximately 25 million gold dragons."

_Okay, if I remember correctly, the rough exchange rate is ten silver stags and two hundred bronze coins for each gold dragon. _"Once this is over, there's going to be a lot of rebuilding to do. And all that gold isn't doing any good sitting in vaults. Therefore, what I propose is a Bank of Casterly Rock. Many lords will be in desperate need of funds, and who better to provide them than us? It'll give us another hold over our enemy bannermen. I believe that was your rationale for loaning three million dragons to the crown."

Tywin stayed silent, but had at least not dismissed the idea. Encouraged, Matthew continued: "We won't be able to use all the money at once, not without creating economic catastrophe. What we can do is lend money to the Lords I mentioned, along with others throughout the Reach and the Stormlands who wish an alternative to the Iron Bank." Matthew expected the Iron Bank wouldn't be pleased about the idea, but he intended to act in his best interests.

"Go on." Tywin responded.

"Certainly some might try and not repay the loan, but I expect they won't wish to contend with the likes of Tywin Lannister. I don't doubt a few might attempt it anyway, and what happens to them will be an example to others. Then there's developing your regions. The designs I've given, along with the raw materials in the mountains, will catapult us into the dominant power, militarily and economically. I don't have the resources here to mass-produce them, and you do."

"Even if they prove as effective as you believe, Your Grace, I cannot hope to both mass-produce them and keep them secret."

"No, eventually our rivals will learn how to build their own versions. This is to give us as efficient as head start as is feasible. Then there's transportation, something absolutely crucial when it comes to war. The North is vast, but it is poor, undeveloped, and far slower to assemble troops. Another future advantage. Building stone roads, constructing canals which can be used for both offensive and defensive applications."

"Such a project would take many years." Tywin mused. "Nor can I divert my resources to this during a war, and it will be exceedingly difficult during the winter."

"King's Landing wasn't built in a day. I understand even in winter, there is still some activity." According to the Maesters, there were two sets of seasons. Crops could still be grown during the winter years, though yields were considerably lower. Another thing Matthew intended to change.

"Yes, crops are still grown, although famine is common during winter." Tywin informed.

"Last question: how many warships do the Westerlands possess?"

"Lannisport currently has around seventy longships, twice the fleet I possessed before the Greyjoy Rebellion. Other vassals have smaller navies, perhaps one-fifty in total."

_Not bad, but I expect the Westerlands aren't much of a naval power. _"And if we have to fight the Ironborn?" Matthew considered it a certainty.

"All the Iron Islands can do is launch occasional raids. They cannot hold territory and our land forces are far more important."

"I'd prefer to be strong enough to where if they attack us again, we'll be able to crush them. And if they do, make sure the Ironbon won't be capable of another attempt." Matthew knew such an action would be extremely bloody, but he'd been involved in similar actions during the war. "And the Iron Islands may have resources we can use."

"That I would consider a lower priority, and certainly not when my lands are being pillaged."

"All of this is long-term planning. So what do you think?"

Tywin mulled it over for several minutes. "Some of your proposals have merit, but few will be possible in the short-term. It's unlikely I will live long enough to see them completed."

"You're the one always talking about the importance of family. And if I could come up with such ideas, so can our rivals. I don't intend to be left behind."

"Once the war is won, we will be able to construct such ideas. There are times I wonder if you truly are my grandson. You are nothing like what I expected."

"War makes you grow up fast." Matthew fidgeted slightly, knowing how close Tywin was to discovering the truth. This wasn't the first conversation he'd had with Tywin on the subject, and Matthew knew he wouldn't be able to stall him forever.

"A rather convenient explanation. There are days I think a mummer wears the face of my grandson, but even that wouldn't explain all your knowledge."

"Perhaps it's a gift from the Seven." Matthew suggest, but Tywin snorted at the very idea. _I'd better prepare for the possibility of him learning the truth. _What Tywin would do then he did not know. Perhaps he could be persuaded that such an arrangement was in his best interests.

Days continued to pass, one very much like another. Matthew spent as much of his time training with Barristan as he could. Each day brought further improvement, but Matthew knew he was a mediocre fighter at best.

He hired more men and increased the amount of resources available for his new weapons, but progress was going far too slowly for his liking. Matthew feared his advantage would soon be copied.

"Have some of the gold cloaks search for the secret passageways." Matthew ordered Bywater. Much as he'd preferred not to spook Varys in hopes of the Spider making a mistake, he didn't have the time to do it himself. "I believe the dragonpit will be an excellent place to start."

"At once, Your Grace." Jacelyn bowed.

"And keep me appraised of any progress you make." _I'd like to know how he managed to win the Mad King's trust enough to learn of him. Or perhaps Varys discovered them on his own. _

What little time Matthew had to himself, he used to make notes on his various ideas. Each time, he checked his information, ensuring no one had been able to steal it, memorizing where every piece of paper was. On occasion, Matthew burnt ones he felt he no longer needed notes to remember.

"Why didn't I think of this sooner?" A sudden burst of inspiration entered his brain. _With all the income coming in, I can certainly afford to assemble an army of my own. _

Matthew rushed to the armory, counting how many spears and crossbows they had in their possession. He would have preferred to arm his men with flintlocks, but more primitive technology would have to do for now.

There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of spears, and it wouldn't be very difficult to construct more. A couple hundred crossbows, battle-axes, poleaxes. . . _This will do nicely, at least for now. _

Next, Matthew ordered a dozen people to act as town criers. "Send a message throughout the city. Anyone who is interested in making some gold, assemble outside the city walls at sundown."

"At once, Your Grace." Each bowed and marched out to follow Matthew's orders.

_All right, this will take some time to arrange, but I'm confident I can manage it. _Matthew instructed the man-at-arms to assemble all weapons at the armory before sunrise, requiring everything to be ready before then.

How many would assemble, he did not know. Matthew knew he wouldn't be able to raise an entire host and training peasants would take time, but it would be a useful supplement to the Lannister forces.

"Why are you so insistent on doing this yourself?" Cersei questioned upon learning of Matthew's plans. "Father is just as capable of turning the dregs into fighters."

"Sooner or later, Stark is going to march on the Capital." Matthew explained, refusing to give the whole truth. "We barely survived Renly's attack, and Robb has been far more successful. We need more men and how better to inspire them than seeing their rightful King alongside?"

"Your father would have said the same thing." Cersei gave him a sad smile. "He was just as hard-headed."

"I'll whip them into shape." Matthew promised, having a strong feeling that he was speaking in literal terms. "Stark's already lost. He just doesn't know it yet."

"And I suppose you intend to fight on the battlefield?" Cersei sighed, hugging Matthew. Having a woman his age consider him his mother was still difficult to adjust to.

"Father did the same thing. All rules of succession aside, the Iron Throne belongs to whoever is strong enough to keep it."

"Yes, he did. Your Father loved nothing more than battle." Matthew wasn't sure whether she was referring to Jaime or Robert, but the description applied to both.

"Nobody wins a war by doing nothing." Matthew insisted. "Keeping the Seven Kingdoms together is now my responsibility and I won't let anyone tear it apart. Would you prefer people say the King is too frightened to fight his own battles?"

"I'd rip the tongue out of anyone foolish enough to say such a thing." Cersei proclaimed. Matthew knew her efforts could be useful, provided she was kept away from any real power. Cersei's viciousness would serve well for hunting down and killing potential traitors.

"I would appreciate such efforts, since I don't have the time to do everything alone." Doubly so on occasions when it felt like his mind was being torn apart.

Matthew's eyes closed within moments of entering his chambers, although not without a slight amount of fear. Varys was still out there, waiting to strike. "No harm will come to you, Your Grace." Barristan promised, keeping guard inside his room. At least until the passageways were found, Matthew was insistent on that point.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Feels like I barely slept. . . _Matthew groaned, stretching his arms and legs. Barristan still stood inside, having barely moved all night. "Good morning, Ser Barristan."

"Good morning, Your Grace." Barristan nodded. "Your breakfast is already prepared and I took the liberty of having a servant taste the food for poison."

"Thank you." Matthew gulped it down quickly. Having a food taster might have been paranoid, but as far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as too paranoid in Westeros.

Not waiting for his food to digest, Matthew rushed out his chambers, only just remembering to lock them in time. He knew this effort would not solve their manpower problem by itself, but should prove a useful supplement to the main Lannister army.

Matthew spotted horses waiting for him and the Kingsguard at the base of the Red Keep. Mounting it in a single swing, he galloped through the streets of King's Landing, trusting his bodyguards to keep up. Despite the sun only just peaking over the horizon, King's Landing was alive with activity. Businesses were open, with smallfolk going about their daily tasks. Chamber pots were emptied into the tunnels Matthew ordered dug. . . mostly, at least.

"Open the gates!" A voice called out as Matthew approached. Giving a nod to their competence, he prepared himself for a day of training smallfolk.

Standing in front of him were thousands of people in a loose formation, engaged in conversation with one another. A few appeared apprehensive, but most wore eager faces. Matthew estimated at least a third were boys, rather than men. _This is Westeros, not the United States. _He reminded himself. Modern values would only get him killed.

"Form up!" Matthew ordered, riding from one end of the crowd to the other. Most moved slowly, unaccustomed to military organization. _This is going to take some time. _

"Now before we do anything, all of you will swear an oath of loyalty to me and only to me." Matthew spoke as loud as he could, hoping his voice would be able to reach those at the back. "Those who refuse to do so can be excused without harm."

Those at the front were the first to go to one knee, gesturing for those beside them to do the same. Matthew personally expected they were more interested in the money he offered, at least in the short term.

Row by row, the crowd of thousands went to one knee, lowering their heads and pledging loyalty. "I am your king and I am your trainer! When I'm done with you, you'll be the new Royal Army, Gods have mercy on us all!"

Spears, shields, and crossbows were brought out, little by little, although Matthew could see they weren't going to have enough to go around. He hadn't anticipated such a massive crowd.

"As of this moment, you are mine! You have many reasons for being here: gold, a call to adventure, perhaps even boredom! I really don't give a shit! From now on, you have only one purpose: to slaughter the enemy!"

"Do we get our weapons now?" A voice called out from the crowd.

"Who the fuck said that?" Matthew screamed. The unfortunate man was dragged to the front of the crowd until he was face to face with Matthew.

"I. . . did, Your Grace." A boy of sixteen, he could not bring himself to make eye contact.

"Do I intimidate you, boy?" Matthew demanded.

"Y. . . yes, Your Grace." He gulped.

"Then how the hell do you expect to face down a cavalry charge?" Matthew intensified his stare. Rather than respond, the boy shrank back into the line.

"I'm ready, Your Grace." A similar-aged boy jumped forward with an excited face.

"Are you ready to slaughter the enemy?" Matthew demanded, standing mere inches away from him. He shook, but unlike the other boy, was able to make eye contact.

"Yes, Your Grace!"

"Can you fight with your fellow men dead and dying all around you?!"

"Yes, Your Grace!"

"Well, then, I guess you're ready for action, aren't you?"

"Yes, Your Grace!"

"Wrong!" Matthew bellowed into his face. "Bravery will only get you halfway! I'm here to train you how to do the most important task in war: live! You will scream, you will bleed, but when I'm done with you, you will be ready to fight!" Matthew had his misgivings over it, being that medieval weapons often took years to become proficient at, rather than weeks.

He spent the remainder of the morning training them to stay in formation, threatening to flog those who were too eager for weapons. "None of you are going to touch a single spear until you shit-for-brains can manage to walk a straight line!"

By the end of the day, his peasants were ready for drills. Matthew demanded loyalty twice more before the sun went down, receiving a massive response. With the constant political games, Matthew intended to have an army loyal to him and him alone.

Shortly before the sun set, Matthew handed out four bronze coins to all who chose to show up, the payment considerably more than what most could manage in other jobs. "If any of you don't show up tomorrow, consider yourselves finished." Most struggled to stay on their feet, stumbling back into King's Landing.

_This is a lot harder than I thought. It was easier being on the other end of this. _Matthew turned to his Kingsguard and said: "Ser Barristan, Ser Balon, I trust you can confirm on them the value of honor. I don't intend to see my men turn into Clegane's brigands."

"I will be certain to teach them, Your Grace." Balon promised. The remaining Kingsguard made similar promises. Matthew expected such efforts would be of limited use, given the realities of Westeros, but he intended to try regardless.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Coming here was a big mistake. _Daenerys believed. When she listened to the sort of treatment given to the Unsullied that Kraznys described, it took all her self-restraint not to have him burned alive.

She kept her face expressionless witnessing the conditions of the slaves. That so many would rather die than continue their lives. . . "I cannot do this." Daenerys decided. "I cannot purchase a slave army."

"Do you have a better alternative, Khaleesi?" Jorah questioned. "The Unsullied are the best fighters in the known world. They have been known to defeat a Dothraki Khalisar six times their number."

"I don't question their fighting abilities." Daenerys snapped. Her three dragons walked alongside her, few able to keep their eyes off them. Drogon was growing faster, now nearly big enough to ride.

Masters watched the dragons with terror on their faces. Slaves stared only as long as they were not being watched. Daenerys allowed herself a slight smirk in seeing the same fear they so often inflicted on others.

"Khaleesi, if you wish to sit the Iron Throne, it will require many difficult decisions. Sometimes it will involve working with men that you would rather not." Daenerys' Dothraki looked at her objections with confusion, as slavery was considered normal in their culture.

"And how will they respond if I land on the shores of Westeros with a slave army?" Daenerys counted. "I want to liberate people from the Usurper's grasp, not enslave them."

"They will be sold to someone, whether it be you or not. The Unsullied would have much better lives serving you than anyone else. Would you toss such men aside like they were nothing?"

"Of course not!" Daenerys denied. She did everything in her power to look after everyone who chose to follow her. _Perhaps. . . it would be best to save as many as I can. _8,000 men brutalized into servitude, and those were the ones who survived the training.

"You're the striking image of Rhaegar, Khaleesi. He was honorable. He fought valiantly. And he was killed by Robert Baratheon. You can save hundreds of Unsullied from serving men like Kraznys."

_Perhaps I can save all of them. _Plans began forming in Daenerys' mind. She had barely escaped Qarth with her life after the House of the Undying. It wouldn't be long before their assassins followed, which the Unsullied could shield her against.

A woman slight older than Daenerys made eye contact with her, gesturing her to come forward. She possessed black hair and a frightened expression, wearing slavery tattoos. Her body was thin, the woman's ribcage visible.

Ignoring Jorah's protests, Daenerys moved forward, feeling pity in her heart. She could imagine the suffering the woman was forced to endure at her master's hands. Perhaps she could help ease the pain. "Can I do something for you?" Daenerys inquired. "Do you need food?"

"I am so sorry. . ." The woman whispered, gripping Daenerys' arm tightly. She struggled with all her might to break the woman's grip, but the woman possessed far greater strength. A manticore emerged from the box, Daenerys nearly paralyzed with her.

The dragons and her bloodriders moved to protect her, but Daenerys knew the manticore would sting her. It traveled quickly down the assassin's arm, her skin trembling at its touch.

A small stream of fire incinerated the manticore just before it stung Daenerys, her would-be assassin fleeing into the crowd before harm could come to her. Daenerys fell to her knees, cursing herself for being so foolish.

She turned around, anticipating that her dragon had fired the saving blow. Instead, a light-skinned man in a hood awaited her, bowing before Daenerys.

"Who are you?" Daenerys demanded of her rescuer. Her bloodriders rushed forward, ready to cut him down, before she gestured for them to stand down. However, the dragons appeared unconcerned, with Viserion even appearing friendly toward him.

"Benerro, Mother of Dragons." Daenerys felt a small smile at seeing such admiration from him. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time."

"Thank you for arriving when you did." Daenerys grasped his arm. "And for saving my life. What favor might I grant you?" She studied the man, looking over the slave tattoos present on his face. Daenerys could only imagine how much he had suffered in his life.

"Favors are unnecessary. I merely did what the Lord of Light commanded me." Benerro refused. "You have a destiny, Your Grace, and I wish to do my part in helping you fulfill it."

"Beware men of worship, Khaleesi." Jorah cautioned. "This man has his own agenda."

"He also saved my life." Daenerys reminded. "I owe him at least the courtesy of hearing him out."

"I thank you, Your Grace." Benerro smiled. "You will face many dangers in the battles to come. I never thought I would life long enough to see this moment. I am from Volantis, Daenerys Targaryen, and I traveled here to meet Azor Ahai reborn." He gripped her hand gently. "I humbly pledge myself to your cause."

XXXXXXXXXX

Much of Matthew's economic ideas I got from the website Race to the Iron Throne.

At this point, I'd say Drogon is slightly smaller than Moondancer. Not quite big enough to fight or ride, but he's not far from reaching that point. Decided to combine the respective assassinations from the book and television show. Benerro is a minor character in A Dance With Dragons, but he'll play a more important role here.


	17. Plans within plans

I apologize for the delay in my writing. I've been going through a few personal issues lately and I haven't felt up to writing very much. Hopefully the length of this chapter will at least partially make up for it.

XXXXXXXXXX

_ Time to start another day. _Matthew climbed out of the bed once he saw the sun shining through the window. Being careful not to wake Alayaya, he moved around her and stretched his arms and legs. She and Marei still slept on the bed nude.

He'd taken to visiting prostitutes more often as a result of his stress, Alayaya being one of his favorites. Many had already agreed to spy for him and had given crucial information about possible rivals. _And Tywin dismisses this sort of thing. _Matthew still felt guilt, but less as time passed, reminding himself Westeros was his new home.

Listening to signs of possible danger, Matthew put on his clothing and chain mail, confident the Kingsguard were still inside the establishment. Save for Balon and Barristan, he was sure they were indulging themselves.

"Are you up for another round, Your Grace?" Marei flashed a true smile toward him, gesturing for Matthew to return to him.

"I'd love to, darling, but the realm must come first." Matthew kissed her cheek. "How is your reading coming along?"

"I'm learning more every day," Marei pulled out a book Matthew had managed to obtain for her. As supplies were limited, at least until he could construct a printing press, he had to settle for using a single book.

Whores were already an excellent source of information, with Matthew learning many secret from those at court, along with what the commoners believed. Teaching them to read, however, would allow him to build a true spy system, answerable to him alone. If Varys could use such a method for his mastery of information, so could he. _Literacy's pretty rare here, so nobody's likely to expect whores to be able to read._

Only the wealthy could afford to attend Chataya's brothel and they were the ones Matthew wanted to keep a close eye on. Not all the information was useful or even true, but nobody bothered to hide their letters after sex. Matthew allowed himself a small chuckle.

Already customers were beginning to arrive, the girls taking them to private rooms once the money was given. Only a couple spared a glance at Matthew, the Kingsguard assembling around him.

"Your Grace, I can't say I'm too surprised to see you here," Tyrion arrive with Bronn in tow. His eyes glanced over at the naked women in the establishment. "I see I've been teaching you a few bad habits."

"Well, you do have that effect on people," Matthew chuckled, refusing to reveal the real reason he arrived so often. "I'm merely getting ready for my Small Council meeting."

"Yes, my father was wondering if you'd lower yourself enough to attend it," Tyrion responded. His face appeared as if he struggled to keep rage from overwhelming him. "And he's not pleased about you spending so much time with whores."

"Somehow, I will find the courage to live on," Matthew rolled his eyes. Tywin still fancied himself the power behind the Throne. _And in large part, he is. _He could keep Tywin in check better than Joffrey could, but he still couldn't be defied openly. King's Landing was still dependent on Lannister troops for defense.

Inside the Small Council chamber, Tywin and Pycelle were already waiting for him. Matthew stared at Tywin for several moments, a dominance contest that grew increasingly common between them. "Good of you to finally arrive, Your Grace." Tywin spoke, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Time flies when you're enjoying yourself," Matthew dismissed Tywin's displeasure. "What news on the war front?"

"Kevan is in the process of forming a new host deep in the Westerlands where Edmure cannot reach them. Nearly all small castles are under siege, with the land burned. Come winter, we are likely to face a famine." Tywin spoke such words with indifference as if describing what he had for breakfast that morning.

"Harrenhal is liable to prove a formidable barrier." Matthew spoke. "The Tyrells won't join us unless we win a decisive victory. They want to be on the winning side. Robb can't take King's Landing, which I don't doubt he's aware of."

"He won't be a problem for much longer." Tywin responded. "Despite his military victories, he is still a green boy."

"What are you plotting, Father?" Tyrion inquired. "It sounds as if you've already done something that will ensure victory."

"That is none of your concern. Suffice it to say that Stark's position is not as secure as he believes. The Vale might have joined them, but his hopes to wait us out will go unrealized."

"You know something the rest of us don't." Matthew thumped his fingers against the table. He was certain Tywin referred to Roose Bolton and the Freys. "But you can't be that confident of a field victory, not when Stark still outnumbers us. I haven't heard of an alliance with the Reach, which would give you reason for confidence." His face broke out into a grin. "You're in contact with traitors within Stark's ranks, aren't you?"

Tywin's eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly. "The Starks might consider themselves honorable, heroic. That doesn't mean all their bannermen agree."

"That being said, I wouldn't expect them to act unless they were at least reasonably certain to gain from doing so. If I was him, whoever it happened to be, I'd play both sides, intent on coming out the winner no matter which of us triumphed."

"Your Grace, I am afraid I cannot allow you to hand over Lorch and Ser Gregor to the Dornish," Tywin announced with his hands folded.

"And why not?" Matthew raised his voice, more annoyed than surprised. Despite making the effort to convince Tywin, he should have known he wasn't going to let the Mountain go so easily.

"Ser Gregor strikes terror into the heart of our enemies," Tywin explained. "And I remain convinced your efforts to bring Dorne into the fold will bear fruit."

"You understand that disobeying a direct order could be construed as treason," Matthew kept his voice even.

"By all means, try to have me locked in the Black Cells," Tywin stared him down. Matthew refused to break under his gaze, but privately admitted he didn't yet have the power to force Tywin to do anything. "Your Grace, as your Master of War, it is my duty to serve you. That includes protecting you from your own poor decisions."

"If we make no attempt to mend fences, Dorne will stab us in the back at the first opportunity."

"No doubt, but are you naïve enough to believe handing Clegane over will soothe their anger? I gave it some thought, I admit. However, that will only be a display of weakness on our part and that I will not allow. Dorne will not be satisfied by such a gesture."

"Your Grace, perhaps you can wait for a more opportune moment," Pycelle suggested. "Having Arianne travel to the Capital will prove their sincerity. If they arrive, you can revisit the issue."

"Is there any sign of them leaving?" Matthew wondered.

"Not at the present time, Your Grace," Master of Whisperers Addam Jova shook his head. Matthew needed a replacement for Varys and he came recommended by Tywin. While undeniably competent, Jova did not possess the same reach. In contrast to Varys, Jova was a muscle-bound man standing nearly six feet tall.

"Notify me the instant that changes," Matthew ordered.

"If there is a marriage alliance, you will have convinced me this plot of yours will work," Tywin interjected. "Only then will I release Ser Gregor to the Martells. They bear no love for us, but neither have they assembled troops against us."

_They're waiting for Daenerys. _Saying as much would get him dismissed, so Matthew kept silent. "My only realistic choices for Queen are either Margaery or Arianne. Both have their choices, chief among them being both houses are or were our enemies."

"You could always marry both women, as Aegon the Conqueror did," Tyrion quipped.

"If you have nothing productive to say, be silent," Tywin snapped. "Both present problems, and no one else is powerful enough to have anything of value. The Starks are unlikely to agree to a unification that will end the war.

"Perhaps we can send the proposal anyway," Matthew suggested. "Sansa certainly seems willing." He had no intention of sleeping with her, at least not until she got a little older, but. . . if absolutely necessary, perhaps he'd do it.

"I'd love to see Robb's face when he reads the letter," Tyrion laughed. "It wouldn't be the first time a marriage was used to mend ties between two enemies."

"Stark is stubborn and will reject the idea out of hand." Tywin pointed out. "That being said, there is merit to the suggestion. So long as he remains a threat, at least."

"The Tyrells will not send troops on our behalf unless Margaery becomes Queen," Tyrion warned. "Nothing else will be sufficient: myself, Jaime, or Cersei. It will have to be you, Your Grace."

"So long as they do not join the Starks. Have the guards on each sibling doubled. I wouldn't put it past the Queen of Thorns to attempt a rescue." Tywin gave Matthew a nod of approval. "Perhaps we can arrange to have the Tyrells and Martells together, remind them of their old hatred."

"If they start slaughtering each other in King's Landing, the effort will be pointless. That will spark a war, meaning neither Kingdom will be in a position to assist us."

"Or oppose us," Matthew offered a counterpoint. The Reach would be the kingmaker so they had to be kept from making an alliance with the Starks.

"I trust we will be able to prevent open bloodshed," Tywin spoke. They argued about it for a while longer before deciding it was worth the risk to have both families in King's Landing.

_If my gamble with the Martells goes badly, I'll need Highgarden to counter them. Perhaps Storm's End as well, if Stannis decides to join me. _He hadn't heard from the man in months, with Stannis Baratheon still in Dragonstone. What he would ultimately do, Matthew had no idea.

"Pycelle, what can you tell me about the orders I required?" Matthew referred to commanding handwashing for all Maesters and Midwifes.

"Your Grace, the number of infants who have died fell only moderately," Pycelle handed Matthew his report. "However, considering the hardship we recently endured, I am astonished that they fell at all."

"Suppose I couldn't have expected miracles." Matthew knew it wouldn't solve malnutrition, accidents, or the problems having half a million people clustered in a mere 12 square miles brought.

"The impact on mothers was considerably greater, however." Pycelle continued. Matthew looked through the pages, seeing the difference between expected and actual survival levels. "Deaths fell by more than half."

"Huh, it's almost as if I knew what I was talking about," Matthew scoffed. "Send orders to. . . Casterly Rock and begin the implementation." He turned to Tywin and added: "Highgarden's greatest advantage is that they can raise twice as many troops as any of their rivals. Lowering death rates in the Westerlands will help neutralize that advantage."

"Are we going to have enough food?" Tyrion worried.

_Good chance we won't. _Reducing infant mortality was likely to lead to a Malthusian catastrophe, at least in Westeros. There were still times it amazed Matthew how civilization survive at all. Little grew in winter, necessitating everyone to take full advantage of summer. Amazingly, they were able to do it with a three-field system.

"It will amplify the power of House Lannister," Tywin declared. Possible famine of his people meant nothing if it increased the power of the Westerlands. "You will not reveal this to the Maesters at large, Pycelle." He nodded, obedient as ever.

_Have to bow to my circumstances. _Matthew hoped to implement a four-field rotation and seed drills as well, but his knowledge of crops was not encyclopedic. And there was no guarantee soil-nurturing and soil-depleting crops were the same as back on Earth. Nor did he have the luxury of experimenting around in the middle of a war. Once he'd managed to defeat his enemies, perhaps then it would be possible.

He had already accepted he wasn't going to be able to fix everything in Westeros. Some problems were simply too complex for any meaningful solution and he was only one man.

Their debates continued until Matthew took his leave, realizing he was already late for training the peasants. He rushed down the stairs and entered the armory, allowing his squires to put on his gambeson and armor. The rest of the day would likely be spent preparing them for the coming battles. _Hopefully, I'll be able to start arming them with muskets soon. _

Before heading outside the gates of King's Landing, he assembled some of the Lannister cavalry occupying the city. His men needed to learn how to counter them if they wanted any hope of survival. By the time Matthew galloped outside the gates, most of his trainees were already assembled, complete with spears and pikes. Before he could open his mouth, everyone got to one knee and swore loyalty to Matthew.

_They're definitely getting there. _Matthew evaluated his troops approvingly. Many were still assembled for the promise of pay alone, but an increasing number stared at him with true adulation, particularly the younger men and boys.

Matthew pushed back his guilt and began with the usual military drills. Few had any trouble forming up and breaking apart, working together in a single unit. Here and there, he corrected them whenever he spotted a problem, keeping his voice stern but encouraging.

"Today, we're going to be starting something new," Matthew gestured to the horsemen behind him. "Now you might be wondering why I brought some cavalry out here. Well, today, everything you've learned so far is going to be tested."

His men looked at each other nervously, some of the Lannisters looking downright eager to get in grips with them. Matthew knew he had limited time to get them ready for what it would truly be like out there. As an aside, he mentioned to the Lannister in charge: "I trust you can keep your men from actually colliding into them. I don't want to lose any men before the fighting even begins."

"I will see to it, Your Grace." Addam Marbrand promised. From what Matthew remembered, he was one of the Lannisters who was both decent and competent.

He rode his horse until he was seven hundred meters away from the spear formation. "I think this is far enough." Matthew announced, raising his Warhammer. "Charge!"

Matthew galloped at full speed, hoping he would be able to stop his horse in time. At five hundred meters, he could make out individuals in the crowd. No one had retreated yet, but he was sure they were terrified. Not that he blamed them. Five hundred horsemen galloping at full speed was a terrifying foe for anyone who lacked discipline.

At two hundred and fifty meters, the first spears were dropped. All were swiftly picked up again, but Matthew was close enough to make out the terror on their faces.

_This is going to be close. . . _Matthew gripped the reins tightly, focusing on his mission. Several seconds before they would have been upon them, spears were thrown down and his men scattered. The majority held firm, but the gaps would have been more than enough to break the lines had it been a real battle.

"Woah!" Matthew called out for his horse to stop a mere fifteen meters in front of his troops. He sniffed with the realization that at least a few of them had soiled themselves.

Others were less successful, four of the horsemen slamming into the line before their riders were able to stop. Those he was training had held firm, pikes piercing the horse's flesh. One rider had the horse collapse onto his leg, shattering it.

"Get him to a Maester," Matthew pointed in two random directions. He doubted the man would keep that leg, but hoped it would emphasize his point. One horse had been killed immediately, with the second being given a mercy kill.

Once the commotion was over, Matthew addressed his men. "If we'd been a real enemy, you would have been torn apart! Cavalry can run much faster than you; no way in hell can they be outrun! But if you hold firm, keep your spears ready, the only thing they'll accomplish is slaughtering themselves! Those of you spineless enough to flee, move to the left!"

While most feared physical punishment, Matthew opted to have them continue basic drills instead. Balon saw to their training, while he worked with those who were able to stand their ground.

_Good thing I didn't put them through a flanking attack. _Matthew doubted any of them were capable of withstanding that. They had a long way to go. Most of all, he had to make sure his troops wouldn't break at a cavalry charge, especially when the flanks were attacked. A frontal assault could be held, but he doubted Robb would be so foolish.

His crossbowmen were progressing best of all. Matthew knew better than most the difference between hitting a target and killing someone on a battlefield, but he was proud nonetheless. Once they were equipped with muskets, there wouldn't be a single army in the Seven Kingdoms who could face him.

XXXXXXXXXX

"We're not going to be able to take King's Landing," Robb collapsed into his chair. It wasn't something he wanted to inform his men about, not yet. He'd gone through every strategy, from the plausible to the truly desperate.

And it couldn't be done. Reinforcements from the Vale would be enough to hold off any attempts at Harrenhal, but taking the offensive was another matter entirely.

_They're going to be expecting a strategy from me soon, _Robb understood. He'd yet to lose a battle and despite the problems in the North, most still believed in him. Robb listened to the cheers, with many proclaiming King's Landing was ripe for the taking.

He wished he could be so optimistic. Robb knew his forces were dwindling while the Lannisters were recovering. He could not count on Stannis' efforts weakening the Lannisters, especially after Bolton informed him Stannis and Joffrey were trading terms for a possible alliance.

A creak from the door sparked Robb's attention, looking up from his maps. "Is this a bad time?" Theon inquired.

"No, what can I do for you?" Robb shook his head, happy to see a friendly face.

"Just interested to hear plans for your next victory," Theon smirked. Robb's guards watched him with barely-disguised loathing. Robb had to keep watch constantly, else Theon was likely to have his throat cut in the middle of the night.

"King's Landing is going to be a long-term goal," Robb didn't want to admit the full truth. "I'm not foolish enough to send my men into a siege when they outnumber us. We could live off the land for a while, but we have no Navy to speak of. No, I'm going to have to try something unconventional."

"You've gotten us this far, Robb," Theon spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Each time, you've been outnumbered, but you still won. Once that bastard's off the Throne, we'll have a proper King."

"Would have been easier if your father hadn't decided to stab me in the back," Robb's frustration flooded through him. He knew it wasn't Theon's fault, but it didn't stop his rage from manifesting.

"My father's dead to me now," Theon declared. After so callously risking his life, he'd learned better than to show loyalty to someone who held him in such low regard.

"The longer this goes on, the weaker we get," Robb confessed. "More men are leaving every day, either to defend their homes or for the harvest. Winter's going to be worse than it's been in decades, thanks to all the crops being burned. I need to end this war now, lure Joffrey's forces out and destroy them." With nearly 150 Leagues between Harrenhal and King's Landing, however, that was no easy task.

"We could send a few people into the city, kill Joffrey, and get Sansa out of there," Theon suggested. "Every city's got weak points and they can't watch everyone."

"I've considered that many times," and was still unsure. Sansa would be executed if any mistakes were made and he would not risk his sister's safety.

"I'll go," Theon offered. "It'd still be safer for me than with your bannermen."

"Have you ever been to King's Landing?" Robb scoffed. Very few of his men had, another reason why he didn't send them. Rescuing Sansa would have to go smoothly, else it would lead to her death.

"No, I haven't." Theon conceded.

"They can't conquer us, not in Harrenhal," Robb had spent much of his free time learning the ins and outs of the castle, putting more emphasis on it since the Kingslayer's escape. It wasn't nearly as secure as its reputation suggested, not with the destruction Balerion unleashed three centuries prior. Too many gaps and not enough men to fill them. "So long as we hold here, we're still in the fight."

_But how to lure Joffrey out? _Robb knew Tywin would not be so foolish, but perhaps the boy would be. The letter he'd received from the Queen of Thorns informed him no alliance would be forthcoming, not unless he could crush the Lannisters once again. Otherwise, Olenna Tyrell would not risk her grandchildren's life.

Whatever he did, he would have to act quickly. Already some of his bannermen went North to fight against Mance Rayder. However skilled Robb was, he knew he couldn't fight against an enemy on all fronts.

"As long as we're still fighting, Joffrey hasn't won," Robb declared. The Crown received no revenue from either the North, Riverlands, or the Vale. That alone would weaken their efforts.

Despite his massive army, Robb wasn't overly worried about Mance. The wildlings had numbers and were brave enough, but possessed almost no discipline. Reinforcing the Night's Watch would be more than enough to hold them back.

_A few men will travel far faster than an army. _Robb mused. Assassination might have been a dishonorable tactic, one his father would have frowned at, but he'd do anything to rescue his sister. _Send some men to free Sansa as top priority, but kill Joffrey if the opportunity presents itself. _

"Theon, I want you to lead a group of my best men to get Sansa out of King's Landing." Robb eventually decided. He couldn't tell his mother about this, knowing her reaction. It was risky, but with the Kingslayer no longer in his hands, Sansa was helpless. "Seeing a familiar face should convince you it's the real thing."

"I won't fail you, I promise," Theon agreed.

"Patience will be important here, and you must be sure before you take her. There will be no second chances." Robb stood off, wanting to make sure Theon understood him. It was his real goal, in any case. He couldn't care less about the Iron Throne.

"There are a few people here who know the city, and gold will convince others to help us," Theon added.

"Search for hidden entrances into the Red Keep; perhaps there are some by sea. Take all the gold you need, and do not waste it on whorehouses."

"I may enjoy female company, but I will not do anything to risk our sister's safety." Theon gripped Robb's hand. "I swear by the old Gods, I will bring Sansa back to you."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm getting a little weary of your lack of progress," Matthew looked over the Flintlocks. He counted only eighty-one, but he needed thousands. "Are these functional, at least?"

"I have tested each one myself, Your Grace." Gian pointed to breastplates that were positioned near the brick wall. Each one possessed several bullet holes, parts of brick blasted away from the wall. "The trigger mechanism is difficult to duplicate with the information you gave me, but the weapons are effective."

"Great; how long until I can start equipping my army with them?" Matthew held his temper back. He was tired of waiting for his new weapons.

Gian frowned, looking away from Matthew. "Out with it! I can already tell you're not going to be giving me good news."

"Assuming everything goes well. . . four years, likely five." Gian admitted.

"Five years?" Matthew coughed. He knew there were some stumbling blocks, but he'd hoped they would be solved faster than that.

"And I am speaking optimistically. If we run into complications, or short on funds, it will take longer. We are doing everything in our power, Your Grace. That I promise you."

"Do you have any good news for me?"

"Some. Training of the acolytes is going well and as of yet, we have had no disasters. The gold you offered has proven a terrific incentive."

"Do you have a timeline when I can at least be able to equip some of my troops with these things? Say, the ones I'm training?" Matthew didn't know if muskets could do anything against more dangerous enemies like the Others. All the same, it was something worth an attempt.

"Perhaps two years, if funds and trained individuals increase in number." Gian informed.

"In that case, I'll have to make do." Matthew considered threatening them to move faster, but his alliance with Braavos was crucial. He needed those weapons sooner, especially against the two enemies that would destroy the continent if they weren't stopped. "It's still an advantage my enemies don't have." _At least for now. _

Efforts to produce more wildfire were going far more quickly. After the Blackwater battle, Matthew had taken over authority from Tyrion, ensuring he had a steady supply. An additional two thousand jars had been manufactured and some of the Gold Cloaks had become competent enough with trebuchets to use wildfire.

_Okay, I'd better operate on the assumption that I have no advanced weaponry. How do I beat Robb Stark? _Ideally, Matthew would have preferred to wait him out and let the boy's political mistakes destroy him. He was more competent than what he remembered, but Robb was still out of his depth. _He defeated unprepared enemies, but Robb hasn't faced me yet. _

But there was something telling Matthew he would have to face him in the field. He couldn't explain it and would have denied it to any who asked, yet it persisted regardless.

Between training his personal troops, checking up on his attempts at building firearms, and working on his own skill, Matthew had little time for governing the Seven kingdoms. He'd been forced to delegate more of that job to Tywin. Whatever else could be said about the man, Tywin was a competent administrator.

Each day, Matthew noted and complimented his troops' progress. A few had died of disease, but his ranks were swelling. Swearing loyalty was scarcely necessary now, although Matthew went through the motions anyway. By last count, he possessed more than 4,000, nearly as many as remained in King's Landing's Gold Cloaks.

His men could now hold the line at cavalry charges, at least during exercises. Flanking attempts were still a weakness, as it was to any slow-moving formation. Matthew hoped his own horsemen could screen them, but in case of any breaches, his soldiers had to know how to respond.

Fortunately, they would have Lannister bannermen assisting them and combined, Matthew could meet with Robb on even terms. Tywin didn't say as much, but Bolton was likely already working against him.

_You've got to destroy Stark now. So long as his army exists, it will be a threat. _Matthew was unsure whether that was his voice or another's. He knew it wasn't Joffrey's at least. _I'm getting very tired of people playing in my head; makes this damn job even harder. _

Two weeks later, Matthew received a letter from Stannis Baratheon, the first he'd heard from the man in months. Locking his chambers, he ripped the letter open and read the contents.

_Joffrey:_

_I grow weary of inconsistent correspondence and vague promises. If you wish to speak further, meet me and my Hand Davos Seaworth at Duskendale. You must come yourself; I will not speak through messengers. _

_ It is only at Melisandre's insistence that I continue writing these letters. She believes you will be crucial for the war to come against our great enemy. _

_ I want to see my brother's body. Despite his treason, he was a Baratheon and I intend to treat him as such. _

_ Refusal to comply with my demands or an attempt to delay this meeting will result in negotiations being terminated. I will thereafter consider you my enemy, whether you be Joffrey or a mummer wearing his skin. _

_Stannis Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms_

_Suppose it's too much to ask for him to stop calling himself King. _Matthew threw the letter into the fire. He could leave the very next day, with the only concern being the Lannisters' disfunction. Balon could train the men in his stead.

And his efforts were beginning to bear fruit at last. Stannis was still not accepting his terms, but a willingness to meet in person meant Matthew was getting close.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You can't seriously be considering this!" Oberyn paced around. "After what they did to Elia and the children, you're willing to. . . form an alliance!"

Doran let his brother pace and fume, knowing there was little point in trying to reason with the Red Viper of Dorne until he had time to calm down. He'd had far too many interactions with Oberyn to use any other approach. However much both would like to see Gregor and Amory suffer for their actions, they would have to be patient.

"Of course not, brother," Doran responded. "Do you think merely handing me the men who carried out the order will be enough to make things right? I've been waiting for seventeen years. I can wait a while longer."

The instant war broke out, his bannermen called on Doran to march his troops to King's Landing and butcher the Lannisters inside. He'd held them back, knowing Dorne was not yet ready for such a conflict. Many cursed him, a few calling him a coward to his face, more saying so behind his back.

It bothered him not at all. Oberyn had said worse on a regular basis, eager to avenge his sister. "But it provides us with an opportunity," Doran explained.

"What do you mean?"

"We'll play along for now, let them think we're considering a marriage alliance. You will go to King's Landing and represent me in my stead. Take Arianne as well."

"I'd love to see the look on Tywin's face when he realizes I'm there," Oberyn smirked. "Have him come face to face with his crimes."

"I trust you'll be able to behave yourself." Doran stared at him sternly. "Consider the offer, but make no definite promises. Draw this out as long as you can." Doran was tempted despite himself to make the match. His daughter would be Queen and his grandchildren would one day sit on the Iron Throne.

But he would be spitting on Elia's memory if he allowed ambition to get in the way of his vengeance. "And if I see Gregor or Lorch there?"

"Keep yourself under control; we aren't ready for war yet." Doran knew the levels of his hypocrisy. He did not believe he would be able to do it, despite being crippled by gout. "They are just mad dogs. I want the heads of everyone who gave them orders."

"Brother. . . should we truly send Arianne there? Even not taking the Lannisters into consideration, they think little of us. I do not wish to see any harm come to her."

"There's no one I trust more to protect her than you," Doran assured. "Both of us have waited half a lifetime to inflict our vengeance. That time is almost upon us."

"Then why do you not let us march north to King's Landing and destroy the Lannisters now?" Oberyn snapped, his temper getting the better of him. "I am getting weary of plans and schemes, while Elia's soul calls out for vengeance! Our men can more than equal Tywin's brutes and knaves! You have been promising revenge for far too long! By the time your plans are complete, Tywin will be dead and beyond our reach!"

"Have you ever wondered about that, Oberyn?" Doran kept his voice even. It was getting harder all the time to hold his brother and bannermen back. Once the war began, it took everything he had not to have them march North of their own accord. "Were there even a slight chance of victory, I would call the banners and attack now.

"Unfortunately, we do not have the strength to triumph on our own. I will not throw their lives away in a losing cause." Doran knew Dorne's perception of strength was the only thing keeping them safe. Were it lost, they wouldn't last long. Ironically, resisting Aegon's forces in the way they did had greatly bolstered their reputation. "But circumstances are turning in our favor."

"As you've been telling me for many years," Oberyn snarled, face contorted in rage.

"I promise you, every Lannister will be dead by the time my plans are finished. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, Tywin will live to see his legacy destroyed."

"Even. . . the children?" Oberyn turned his head, anger replaced with shock. "Tommen and Myrcella?"

"They showed no mercy to my niece and nephew; I will show none in turn." Doran chuckled at his brother's shock. "Why the hesitation? You've been demanding revenge since you were a young man."

"Yes, but. . ."

"We will wipe them out to the last. The Lannisters will cease to exist, as will those they ordered to commit such crimes."

"As always, I'm at your service." Oberyn nodded his agreement.

"Remember: best not to tell Arianne of what we're doing. I love my daughter, but she's never been one for plots. Tell her of the arrangement and that we're bringing her to King's Landing to learn if Joffrey is a man worthy of her."

Watching his brother depart, Doran knew he couldn't tell him the last portion of his plan. _Not what I had expected, but it'll work out in our favor after all. _Unlike most, Doran knew Tywin didn't underestimate him.

But no one in Westeros was paying attention or preparing for Daenerys Targaryen. Her hatching three dragons wasn't what Doran had anticipated, having originally intended to marry Arianne to Viserys.

Perhaps it was for the best it did not happen. Doran had soon discovered the boy inherited his father's madness, and would have been incapable of commanding an army. But Daenerys was different. With three dragons at her side, once they were grown, no one would be able to stand against her. Combined with Targaryen loyalists, the Lannisters would not hold the Iron Throne long.

XXXXXXXXXX

Roose Bolton burned the letter he received from Tywin Lannister, watching it burn until there was nothing left. Fortunately, the man knew how to circumvent what passed for Stark's intelligence and none of his men were foolish enough to try and read his mail.

There was the potential for gain, but Roose did not yet decide to act. Despite Robb's naivete, he had managed to win every single battle. His bastard was assembling cutthroats in the North to fight against the wildlings, ones that could turn on Stark loyalties should it prove necessary.

The odds were against him, however. Robb was stuck where he was, even with assistance from the Vale. Most from the Riverlands had already left to protect their homeland. What remained could not take King's Landing, but were still able to destroy the Lannister Army.

If Robb faltered in his campaign, Roose could betray him and become the new Warden of the North. If Robb continued to win and took King's Landing, he would be given a higher position thanks to his service. Either way, he would come up ahead.

XXXXXXXXXX

Next chapter is the meeting with Stannis and we'll get to see the Kingslayer again. Countless plots all happening at the same time, but for everyone, information is incomplete. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long, since even though I'm working, I've got my motivation back.


	18. Stannis the Mannis

I've read numerous stories on here involving an OC or self-insert who shows up in Westeros and magically manages to fix everything. Or a trueborn son of Robert and Cersei who possesses no prejudice, is skilled at everything, and all that's necessary is to kill a couple or corrupt people (often Varys and Littlefinger) for things to run smoothly. But that isn't this story, as I said from the beginning. Matthew's not infallible, nor is his knowledge of weapons encyclopedic.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I wonder if I'm ever going to see you again," Tyrion remarked as Matthew prepared his journey.

"I don't expect you'd miss me very much." Matthew shrugged. He still feared a possible trap and would have rather begun the initial dialogue through messengers. However, measured against that was the possibility of winning over Stannis Baratheon and perhaps the Storm Lords as well.

"I'm a little too busy marveling at how you've managed to accomplish this," Tyrion admitted. He lowered his face and added: "Stannis is known for his own sort of honor, but don't overlook the possibility of him betraying you."

"Not the first risk I've taken to keep the Iron Throne." Matthew placed his mail shirt over the gambeson. "That he's willing to meet me at all is quite a step. I think he's figuring out nobody wants him as King. And Tywin's got to bring at least some of his bannermen along, else he loses his alliance with Braavos." Matthew had made sure the agreement was with him alone for that very reason.

"If you bring Stannis to you, I will start believing in miracles again." Tyrion took another gulp of his drink. Unknown to Matthew, Tyrion had read the letters before they reached Matthew's eyes.

"Do try not to destroy the city while I'm gone," Matthew requested. It never ceased to amaze him how Lannister family disfunction was no less a foe than Robb Stark.

"Before you leave, nephew, I do have a request of you." Tyrion came to his central point. "Your mother has chosen to hold Shae hostage and threatens to kill her if I do not obey her every command. I'm already subverting her of course but this would be far easier if you ordered her to release Shae."

"Can't you deal with your bullshit yourselves?" Matthew griped while looking around at his chambers for what could be the final time. The trip to Duskendale would take at least a couple of weeks. He considered sending letters, but such messages would be intercepted. So many things could go wrong even if Stannis sincere. "Between trying to fight a war, turning Westeros into less of a shithole, watching for knives in the dark, I don't have the energy or interest to deal with your family quarrels!"

"Interesting way of showing gratitude. You wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for me!" Tyrion crossed his arms.

_I swear to God. . . _"I will intervene when I return. Right now, there are more pressing matters to attend to." Matthew doubted Cersei would be so cooperative after his departure. Shae would be killed and Tyrion would be out for revenge. "Daenerys has sacked Astapor and Robb is still a considerable threat."

"I understand why this might not be a priority for you." Tyrion gulped down his entire goblet in moments before pouring himself another drink. "And she is just a whore to you. But. . . when I drink, I have a loose tongue. If I drink too much, I might just start letting things slip. . . say, about who you really are."

"You dare threaten me?" Matthew took a step toward Tyrion. **"You can't trust that Imp; I told you!" **Matthew shook his head to ignore Joffrey's voice.

"Who says I'm threatening anyone, nephew?" Tyrion's tone became deceptively light. "I'm merely pointing out that those who get drunk have a tendency to say too much. So long as Shae is in my sister's tender grip, I drink to relax myself. If, however, the problem is solved by freeing her. . ."

_He's serious, all right. _"You can try, but the only thing you're likely to accomplish is getting yourself killed." Matthew challenged. "Cersei and Tywin both despise you and I don't think either would appreciate your efforts at dividing us. Tywin has a certain thing about whores, doesn't he?"

"I'm quite persuasive and my father is close to figuring it out of his own accord. I happen to think the price of my silence is quite reasonable." Tyrion stretched his legs on the table. "You could be right. I might not be believed and end up making my position worse. But do you want to take the chance of being wrong?"

For the first time, Matthew thought Joffrey had a point. _I revealed far too much to Tyrion. _He'd been completely on his own and Tyrion figured out the truth, Matthew possessed someone to talk to. He attempted to hold back as much as he could, but Tyrion had a way of wheedling information out of others.

If he ordered Cersei to release Shae, the woman would end up dead and Tyrion would end up being more vengeful. If he refused, same result. "I don't appreciate being blackmailed, Imp." Matthew wouldn't need anyone's help to subdue Tyrion and his attempts at showing mercy had repeatedly backfired on him. "You've just threatened a King. I'd be justified in killing you where you stand."

"Oh, you'd miss the pleasure of my company too much," Tyrion mocked. "And I've done a lot for you. I'm not asking for much in return."

"Perhaps you should do the smart thing and wait until I return. Shae's safe, so play along. Obey my orders and I'll pretend I didn't hear any of this. No need for Cersei to learn about what just transpired. Not smart to alienate the only ally you possessed." _Not anymore. _

"I'll hold you to that," Tyrion warned. "If not, we'll see how my father reacts to his grandson being an imposter. Assuming he doesn't know the truth already."

"And do keep in mind that for all her claims of undying love toward you, Shae's job is to lie to men. Perhaps you shouldn't take her claims at face value." Tyrion snarled and moved forward, with Matthew getting into a defensive position.

"Thank you for your words of wisdom." Tyrion's voice turned to ice.

"If we have to have this conversation again, it's going to end with you spending the remainder of your days at Castle Black." Matthew couldn't believe his foolishness in considering Tyrion a useful ally. "No doubt your father will be pleased to be rid of you."

_No doubt this is another act of mercy that's going to bite me in the ass. _It seemed Westeros enjoyed punishing kindness in the cruelest way possible. Perhaps it would have been better to behave as a more restrained version of the canon Joffrey.

At times, Matthew was tempted to give into his darkest impulses and release his full wrath on anyone who so much as argued with him. _Now I'm channeling my inner Joffrey. _

He looked over at Margaery and Loras, the siblings rarely spending time apart. Matthew wondered if he should arrange a marriage after all despite their attempted treason. Alliances changed all the time in Westeros, so it would hardly be unprecedented. "Come to wish me luck, My Lady?" He gave Margaery his most charming smile.

"And to implore you to be careful," Margaery added. "Stannis bears no love for you and after the lies he's spread. . ." Margaery gave him a look that indicated she knew of Joffrey's true parentage.

"I thank you for your concern, My Lady." Matthew gripped her hand gently. "Once I return, I would like to speak with you in private regarding certain conversations we've had before. I trust this is not a breach of hospitality."

"Of course not, Your Grace." Margaery gave a sweet smile. "The city can get lonely at times and I'd appreciate the company."

"Then I hope to return quickly." Matthew marched out the Red Keep. _Let her make of that what she wants. _He intended to assemble as many people as he could without looking like an invasion force. Matthew didn't think the Starks had spies in the Capital, but the Tyrells did. A discreet message to Robb Stark. . . _Cersei would spark another bloodbath. _

On the Kingsroad, the trip would take a little over two weeks. Negotiations at Duskendale would hopefully be short, as this was the first time Matthew had ventured from King's Landing.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Expected Duskendale to be a little more impressive," Matthew looked over the city. It was secure enough, at least for a minor force like his. However, the walls were perhaps half as thick as the ones surrounding King's Landing. At a distance of a mile, he could not make out any single individual, but the stench was far less than he grew used to in the Capital.

House Rykker had stayed out of the war, not declaring fealty until the Battle of the Blackwater. Duskendale had perhaps 15,000 people, a city by Westerosi standards, but to Matthew, it barely qualified as a town.

"Do you truly mean to go inside the city?" Barristan asked.

"No, I'm not going to enter a city I know nothing about," Matthew denied. Stannis was more honorable than most, but Matthew doubted he was above springing a trap on him. He turned to one of his subordinates and ordered. "Write Stannis a message that says we have arrived, though I have no doubt he already knows. Tell him that a symbol of trust is required. To ensure my safety, Davos Seaworth will stay with us until negotiations conclude."

"Your Grace, the man is a commoner," Dontos Hollard mentioned.

"He is also Hand of the King, meaning Stannis holds him in high esteem. Obey my orders." Dontos scribbled a letter and handed it to a Raven, the distance obtainable in just a few minutes for the bird.

"Your brilliance and strength have brought Stannis to heal." Harys Swyft looked ready to bow then and there. Matthew ignored him, as he was informed the man kissed the ass of anyone above him. His incompetence was such that Tywin sent him on what he considered a fool's mission.

Alongside Matthew were 300 of his most skilled troops and 200 Lannister Bannermen. He did not trust Stannis far enough to go alone and while Robb's forces were last known to be at Harrenhal, he'd do just about anything to have a chance of killing him.

"In the latrine!" Matthew demanded at a peasant ready to defecate where he stood. He wasn't about to allow typhus or whatever the Westeros equivalent was to spread through his ranks. Each time they stopped, he ordered a latrine to be dug, wishing to avoid the spread of disease. At least to the degree he could.

He considered it a small miracle he hadn't come down with something already. Matthew bathed often and cleaned his hands several times a day but knew it would happen sooner or later. His troops looked confused at such orders but as none were currently ill, Matthew's orders had proven their worth.

An hour later, a letter arrived from Stannis and his immediate circle residing in Duskendale. Matthew skimmed through it, happy to see the man agreed to his terms. _Perhaps he's serious after all. Maybe I should have demanded Melisandre. . . but she'd be more likely to kill me than the other way around. _He doubted his technology would do anything against shadow babies.

It was another half hour before Davos arrived, having no escorts. "Lord Seaworth, good to see you here at last."

"Few refer to me as Lord Seaworth, My Lord," Davos greeted, the pouch containing his severed fingers hung around his neck. His loyalty to Stannis never ceased to amaze Matthew.

"It's rare to see a commoner rise so high." Matthew complimented. "Stannis must think highly of you."

"He is waiting for you inside." Davos mentioned. "King Stannis also wanted me to inform you that only you and the Kingsguard were be allowed."

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained. _It was a risk, but if it paid off, he'd have a new and skilled ally. Matthew ordered them to accompany him, knowing he could be marching to his death. Breaking hospitality was serious business in Westeros, but parlays ending in bloodshed was not unheard of.

His horse stumbled on a loose brick. "Damn it!" Matthew held onto the reins tight, nearly being thrown from his horse. The Kingsroad and similar roads were in disrepair and from what he had been told, they had been neglected since Robert assumed the throne. "Couldn't my father have at least spent all that money on maintaining the roads instead of tourneys?"

Once the gates were opened, Matthew attracted the undivided attention of those in Duskendale. His gaze turned to steel. Matthew refused to give the impression of a man who could be easily pushed around. His own men were at least equal in number to the guards he spotted, some of whom wore Baratheon colors.

The Queen's Men led him through the main castle where Stannis was residing. "You will meet with Stannis alone," his wife Selyse demanded of him. "Only me and the Lady Melisandre will be there." She spoke Melisandre's name in a worshipful tone.

Despite himself, Matthew nearly sniggered. The woman's mustache was almost more prominent than his in his proper body. "Very well, but I do not advise attempting any traps." If it was one, he'd take Stannis with him.

Inside the plain room, Stannis and Melisandre stood in the center. Stannis wore his usual grim expression while Melisandre was impossible to read. "It is good to see you at last, though I do not know your proper name." She stood almost a head taller than Matthew.

"Good to see you at last, Stannis." Matthew wasn't sure what the proper protocol was. He gave the room a careful scan, wary of any sudden ambushes. Without his Kingsguard, Matthew was hideously vulnerable. "Nice to know you were willing to meet with me in person."

"You are not Joffrey Lannister," were the first words out of Stannis' mouth. "Who you are, I do not know, but I do know Joffrey and you are not him, even if you wear his skin. I doubted Melisandre's words at first, but seeing you stand before me, she tells it true. What is your name?! Your real name."

"Matthew," He decided it wasn't worth hiding with just the three of them. "And how did you know that?"

"Your stance, your walk does not belong to Joffrey. How did you come to this place? What are you after? More importantly, how have you replaced the Lannister abomination?"

"Joffrey's still stuck in my head," Matthew admitted. He'd grown to just ignore him, finding it a more vicious punishment than the insults. "As for everything else, I cannot answer that any more than you can. When I woke up, I was at Ned Stark's sentencing."

"The man learned the truth after I did. Stark was my brother's closest friend, whom he loved much more than I. Robert would have accepted the truth when he did not with me. You know much about me, yet I know little about you. How have you learned this? If you wish any chance for an alliance between us, I will not tolerate falsehoods."

"The Lord of Light brought him here for a purpose," Melisandre chimed in. "He is not of this world. I have seen his home in the flames."

"So you say, and I know he is not Joffrey," Stannis turned to Melisandre. "That does not make him trustworthy. Stark died in his captivity and while Baelish was a man who deserved to die, I cannot help but ask questions."

"I didn't put enough guards on him and underestimated Littlefinger. Ask me whatever you wish and if I know the question, I will answer. Do keep in mind that much of this may sound fantastic to you."

"Where do you come from?"

"The United States of America, on a planet called Earth. It's a representative democracy of around 340 million. . . um. . . after the war, perhaps 290 million now. Nobody's completely certain, having not taken a census."

"You're going to have to come up with something more believable, Matthew!" Stannis snapped. "The entire known world does not hold 300 million people and Maesters believe all of Omelos, including explored areas, do not possess such a population!"

Matthew went into more detail about his homeland, although to a lesser degree than he did with Tyrion. Whatever the many injustices in the United States, it was a paradise compared to Westeros. By the time he had finished, Stannis held the table to steady himself. He revealed no outward emotion, but Matthew was certain the grim man was shocked. "If you are a liar, then you are better than most I have encountered. But your claim of being able to insult the King without punishment. . ."

"President, and they only stay that way for a maximum of eight years."

"You understand how this must sound, I hope. It would be easier to believe you are a Faceless Man than from another world."

"I can hardly believe it myself, but here I am. I do not know why I am here and if I could, I would return in a moment, this whole continent be damned!" Matthew knew he shouldn't have expressed such anger, but the chains of commanding were heavy on him. Joffrey was in his head, he had to fight a war, his attempts at changing society were making minimal progress, and Matthew missed his girlfriend and sister.

His display helped to convince Stannis Matthew was the genuine article. "You would leave us to ourselves when you could accomplish much? Are all your people so neglectful of their duties?"

"So you do believe me?" Matthew allowed himself an inward smile.

"I believe you speak the truth about not being Joffrey and your attitudes are unlike any I have ever encountered. But from another world. . ." Stannis turned to Melisandre.

"Through the Lord of Light, all things are possible." Melisandre spoke. "He operates in ways we cannot begin to comprehend."

"Yeah, well, I still don't believe in any deity," Matthew became steadily less certain of that, though. Of course, it was as good an explanation as any for how he ended up in Westeros.

"He believes in you, Matthew, and in time, you will see the light." Melisandre stared into his eyes. "When you arrived, I felt something change, something that altered the balance."

"I know how crazy this has to sound to both of you." Melisandre looked believing but Stannis frowned with doubt. Not that Matthew could blame him. _I wouldn't believe a word of it if our positions were reversed. _

"It would be easy to say such things are folly. Yet with the threat beyond the Wall and who stands before me now, it is a possibility I cannot dismiss. A Faceless Man would be easier to believe, but I know the reports of new weapons. Ones far beyond anything seen on this continent. If not for those. . ."

"So about becoming Hand of the King. . ."

"I should have been named Hand once Jon Arryn died, but Robert always considered Ned Stark his true brother. Now by law, I am the rightful King. Bend the knee and this alliance you speak of can be solidified."

"You seem to misunderstand your position," Matthew reminded. "I want you as an ally for your intelligence and strategic capability, but you're no threat to me." At least not until he'd put himself in Melisandre's grip, at any rate.

"What battles have you won that I should fear you? You speak about the good of the Realm, but refuse to follow through."

"Same could be said of you. Nobody wants you as King. You're a skilled number two, a man who can run the realm, but you have no charisma, Stannis. A trait your brothers have that you do not."

"I didn't agree to this meeting to suffer insults!" Stannis raised his voice.

"I'm not about to hold the truth back, however unpleasant you find it. How many Lords have flocked to your banner? Even the Storm Lords have little interest in seeing you King. I have more of them on my side than you despite the letters you sent proclaiming Joffrey a bastard born of incest."

"If you refuse to submit, then I will be forced to have you executed. Declare me the one true King and I will spare your life and that of. . . well, the Lannisters."

"I won a battle with green troops when outnumbered eight to one. I'm offering you the very thing you want, but you're too damned stubborn to give up a hopeless pursuit for a throne you barely want!"

"Want does not enter it."

"Yeah, yeah, it's your Throne by rights." Matthew cut Stannis off before he could recite it again. "You want to fight corruption and put the Seven Kingdoms back in order and I'm giving you an opportunity to do it."

"You ask me to submit to the likes of Tywin Lannister. If it was you alone, perhaps I could do so, but the rest of the Lannister family. . ."

"Then perhaps I'll point out a bit of wisdom: we will either hang together or most assuredly, we will all hang separately. If the great enemy marched upon us now, we'd all be dead!"

"For all your claims of caring about the realm, you are growing to love power. You have my word of honor no harm will come to either you or your family when I sit the Iron Throne." He handed Matthew a loaf of bread, which he slowly consumed. The bread was almost hard enough to break his teeth, but Matthew understood what the message was.

"It'd be nice to make all of this someone else's problem, wouldn't it?" Matthew expressed a dark laugh. "I'm out of my depth when it comes to politics! Just about everything I've done so far has made things worse for me! Yet. . . it's my burden to bear and I must be the one to carry it. I didn't choose these circumstances. All I can do is my job, which is why I began speaking with you to begin with."

Stannis waited several minutes before responding. "Whatever doubt I had about Joffrey lurking inside ended with those words. He would never have treated the Iron Throne as a burden, only as a way to do whatever he wished."

"My decisions affect millions of people. Best to take it seriously. The longer we quarrel, the stronger our enemy becomes."

"He speaks the truth," Melisandre interjected. "Bend the knee to the Lord's chosen and you will serve the Lord of Light's will. We have little time and the great enemy laughs at us slaughtering each other."

"And I'm one of the only people who knows the truth," Matthew pushed. He was beginning to think this was a hopeless struggle. "This job would be far easier if I didn't have to crush everyone else before preparing for the true threat! I wouldn't be doing my duty if I handed the throne away, however tempting it is."

"I wouldn't be doing my duty if I allowed an abomination to sit the Iron Throne," Stannis declared. "You may not have chosen this, but you still reside in Joffrey's flesh."

"Have I at least earned enough trust for my men to be allowed inside your walls? I'm still hostage, as Davos is mine."

Stannis gave a reluctant nod. "Very well, but see to it they cause no trouble."

"We seem to be at an impasse." Matthew spoke upon making sure his men were inside the walls. "Are you so eager to run to your own destruction? You may not wish to work alongside Lannisters, but all of us must play our part if we are to survive the twin threats."

Matthew could see Stannis waver ever-so-slightly. "Robert allowed the Lannisters far too much influence in his court and you ask me to submit to them now?"

"Not to them. To me." Perhaps Stannis bending the knee to him instead of the Lannisters would make the blow easier.

"By your own admission, Joffrey is still in your head. What happens if he regains control?"

"My willpower is far superior to his. I didn't even hear his voice for months."

"That does nothing to ease my concerns. Can you promise me he will not gain control?"

"I'm not about to allow Joffrey to destroy everything I've tried to build. It's likely I'll never be able to return home, however much I wish otherwise. You might be Azor Azai, but I don't think there's anything requiring him to be King."

"If only your points were so easy to dismiss. I was ready to end negotiations immediately, but much of what you say is sensible. However, leaving the Realm to Lannister tyranny will ensure our destruction."

"I'm no Lannister. Tywin's about 60 years old, so he's not likely to live much longer. If your Lord of Light is real. . . then perhaps it's his will that this alliance occurs." Matthew considered it to be nonsense but hoped it would at least sway Melisandre. "There are two threats, in fact, that may destroy Westeros. We have the Others but also Daenerys Targaryen. She has already sacked Astapor and her dragons are small. Once fully grown, they will kill millions." _Including King's Landing. _

Melisandre moved toward the flames and stuck her hand inside them. Revealing no pain, she spoke: "The Dragon Queen is difficult to read. She has great potential. . . but whether for prosperity or ruin I cannot say."

"The fact I'm standing before you now means things are in motion, Stannis." Matthew pushed. "You cannot shut your eyes forever." _This is Stannis Baratheon; of course he can! _

Before Stannis could respond, the door swung open and revealed a terrified squire. "Your Grace. . ." He appeared uncertain whether to call Matthew or Stannis by that title, "The Northmen are marching on us!"

"How was this not detected before?" Stannis demanded.

"They must have found a path we were unaware of. At least 3,000 Northmen and their allies will be here in hours." Matthew and Stannis exchanged glances, each thinking the same thing. _Oh, shit. _

XXXXXXXXXX

Hoping I wrote Stannis at least somewhat accurately. He's difficult to persuade, but not completely unapproachable, especially in the later books. Assuming all this even matters thanks to the northern offensive, that is. Tyrion might seem vicious, but this is Tyrion from the books, not the television show.


	19. Defiance of Duskendale

Jaime Lannister wrapped his blanket tighter around him. For the past week, he'd suffered from a fever and was getting worse. His escorts suggested they make camp until he recovered, but Jaime refused. Better to risk continued travel to King's Landing than be caught by the Northmen. From what he'd been told, the objective was to kill him, not recapture him.

"My Lord, you need to stop," One of his escorts pleaded. "Or else you're like to catch your death of flu."

"I'll die before that happens," Jaime responded stubbornly. At least the constant rain had stopped. With winter so close upon them, such weather would only become more common. Sick or not, he could still use a sword.

_It's only another day to King's Landing, _At least if he remembered correctly. Jaime kept the strongest grip on the reins he could, trying to ignore his pounding headache. Another day before he could see Cersei again. She'd been the only thing keeping him from giving up.

The ground was still damp, forcing them to slow their pace. Jaime wished to travel the Kingsroad, but the others argued it was too much of a risk and so he reluctantly conceded. With ten thousand gold dragons offered for his corpse, no one could afford to be complacent.

That night, Jaime laid down to sleep, shivering and moaning. Now that he no longer had to appear strong to his men, he could afford to lower his guard a little. He laughed at the bitter irony he could end up dying of disease after all the battles he'd participated in. Jaime could stand against a dozen knights without fear, he could match even the likes of Barristan Selmy, but against disease, he was helpless.

The next morning, Jaime found himself barely able to breathe, let alone stand. Each breath Jaime took sent sharp stabs of pain through his body. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to get to his feet. "We're almost. . ." Jaime stopped speaking, erupting into a coughing fit. Each one only amplified his pain.

"You can ride behind me; you're in no shape to ride on your own," One of his men declared.

"I'll manage." With a determined hold, Jaime climbed onto the back of his horse. Or he tried to; Jaime's muscles failed him, his legs shaking from the effort it took to stand. Two men had to assist him onto his horse. No matter what, Jaime refused to ride clutching one of his men.

Jaime opened and shut his eyes, doing his best not to breathe hard. Sweat poured down his forehead, shivering every few moments. Even small breaths sent sharp pain into his body, but it was the best he could accomplish. He hoped they would succeed in evading their enemies, for even Jaime had to concede that he was in no shape to fight.

The remainder of their journey was a blur. All the streams, hills, and villages blurred together. Jaime was forced to rely on his subordinates for directions. He let out small gasps of pain despite his best attempts to hold them back. _Just a little more. I'll get to King's Landing and I can rest. _

Blinking his eyes, Jaime made out the city. With what little remained of his strength, he spurred his horse to gallop faster. Tears obstructed his vision, Jaime's body burning up. His grip on the reins loosened. All of Jaime's strength and willpower would not allow him to continue.

The last thing he noticed before losing consciousness was a pair of small feet.

XXXXXXXXXX

_We've got a great opportunity here, so long as we don't waste it. _"It seems we find ourselves on the same side, Stannis."

"For the time being," Stannis reminded. He didn't yet appear convinced. "Stark will not distinguish between his foes and any quarrel between us will lead to our deaths."

"Precisely what I was thinking." Matthew nodded. "I'll get my men ready and check the walls for any weak points. Wasn't especially impressed with them when I saw them. How many guards does Duskendale have?"

"Around 200, though few are experienced troops." Stannis informed Matthew.

"He hasn't done much pillaging, else they would not have been able to sneak up on us. Whether it is Robb or a subordinate, their food supplies amount to what they brought with us. Any reports of destroyed villages you did not seek to enlighten me about?" Stannis shook his head.

"If I expected a battle, I would have delayed our negotiations."

"Tywin could march up here within two weeks, not nearly enough time to starve us out." Matthew announced. "We can also do great harm to them in that time period. I think there's something deeper here. In either case, we need to prepare for the worst." Matthew had learned enough not to take victory for granted. Ending their meeting, he marched outside the main keep to evaluate their defenses.

Most of the smallfolk inside appeared curious but nothing more. Matthew opted not to panic them until there was no avoiding it. He approached a group of guards, whispering the situation and ordering them up to the walls. "What kind of defenses do we have?" Matthew questioned. "I need to know what I've working with."

"A few trebuchets, some scorpions, and barrels of boiling oil. We never anticipated being under attack."

_People love to stick their heads in the sand, even in Westeros. _With the guards and his own men marching to the wall, the smallfolk began to look nervous. Matthew declined to say anything was going on, his mind focused on his task.

Matthew privately admitted he almost preferred a good battle to the constant political bickering. Here at least he knew what to do. If they stormed the castle, Matthew could cut them down like wheat. An attempt to lay siege. . . it wouldn't be the first night attack he launched.

Once on the walls, Matthew could better evaluate their defenses. Duskendale was had little in the way of natural defenses. South of the castle were cliffs, so no one would dare attack in that direction. He was outnumbered, but not nearly as badly as during the Blackwater battle.

"All right, men, this is our moment of truth!" Matthew announced to his soldiers. "We've got the Starks marching toward us! We're going to hold them by the nose and kick them in the ass! Are you with me?"

"Yes, Your Grace!" They responded. Matthew realized there was little time to get everything ready, but if he played it correctly, their attempts at stealth could end up backfiring on the Northmen.

_Unfortunately, I didn't see any chokepoints we can use to slow the enemy down. So perhaps not a good idea to engage them outside the walls after all. _Matthew looked up at the sun while shielding himself with his arm. _By the time the Northmen arrive, it's likely to be dark. _

"We're not going to be able to hold the field, not when we're outnumbered three to one," Matthew announced to Stannis when he returned. "No natural obstacles we can use, only the walls."

"They won't be able to starve us out, not with my ships controlling the seas," Stannis reminded. "The North possesses a minimal navy, perhaps forty warships in all."

"So why are they launching a battle they know they can't win?" Matthew wondered. "Melisandre, can you see who's in charge of this offensive?"

"The Lord of Light does not give me information on command," Melisandre refuted.

"He's not commanding you; I am," Matthew reminded.

"To kill us, but especially you," Stannis suggested. "You're falsely considered the King of the Seven Kingdoms and Stark has sworn to take your throne. Too large of a host and we would have abandoned our meeting. Too small and victory will be impossible."

"That. . . makes more sense than I would like, but I don't intend to give them what they want. Nor am I content to let them rest. If they'll be here by nightfall, we can hit them in the dark. Most will be exhausted and exhausted men make mistakes. We can take advantage of that."

"I cannot see who is commanding, only a serpent," Melisandre informed.

_Sounds like Bolton. If he's commanding, things just got a whole lot more interesting. _If Bolton abandoned Robb's cause like he did in canon, he'd do everything he could to weaken Stark. "Melisandre, do you have any methods of ensuring we won't be detected?" Matthew wasn't above using her abilities to his advantage.

"I cannot shadow an entire army, but I can keep you concealed." Melisandre nodded.

"Well, it's a risk, but everything in war is. I'm aware you're not much of a frontline general, Stannis, but it's a wonder for morale."

"And what guarantee do I have that you won't attempt to dispose of me and blame it on the enemy?" Stannis demanded.

"I'd swear it on my honor, though I know you won't believe it. How about this: if we fail here, we both die, so best to cooperate with one another, correct? Keep in mind I have just as little reason to trust you." Stannis and Matthew argued out the details of the plan.

"Many of your troops are still green. Is it wise to expend them so callously?" Stannis inquired.

"Interesting; many in your position wouldn't give a damn," Matthew commented. "They're unbloodied, but I brought along the most promising of my army. Lannister bannermen will provide an additional buffer. Besides, I don't intend to send everyone out there; that would be impossible to conceal. Just enough to prevent them from getting any sleep, and hopefully destroy a few supplies in the process."

After more arguing, Matthew and Stannis decided to send out 100 of each of their men. The sun set in the sky, warning both the time for battle was nearly upon them.

"Your Grace, the Northmen have arrived outside the walls," Davos informed with a bow.

"And which of us are you calling 'Your Grace?'" Matthew smirked. As Davos stammered, he cut him off. "Doesn't matter; what banners do you see?"

"I made out Karstark banners, Glover, Hornwood and many others I couldn't identify." Davos responded.

"Did you make out the flayed man?" Matthew inquired.

"No, Your Grace." Davos denied.

_Bolton's got a hand in this. I'm sure of it. _"If they're exhausted, we've got an opening. Even those meant to stand guard may end up succumbing to slumber."

"It would be safer to wait for reinforcements and let disease take them in the meantime," Stannis reminded. "Your grandfather has doubtless learned of the attack and Tywin will not allow his family to be insulted in such a fashion."

"We'll be able to reduce casualties if we keep them off-balance," Matthew countered. "I don't intend to give my enemy the initiative. We don't have to beat them, just leave them weakened enough to where my reinforcements can win with minimal losses. What would you do in their situation?"

"I wouldn't be fighting this battle," Stannis responded. "I know better than to leave my men so vulnerable. As you are asking under this situation, I'd search for covert ways to enter the city. Perhaps bribe a few guards to let us in."

"All the more reason I don't intend to let them relax. Give it another hour or so, let them fall asleep, and we'll hit them." _I would much rather be doing this with a gun. _Sneaking around with just a Warhammer wasn't his favorite way to fight.

Time before they were due to attack passed quickly. Matthew double-checked his armor, Stannis prepared his, and both gave numerous speeches of encouragement, albeit quiet ones. "Can you see anything about the outcome of this battle?" Matthew inquired of Melisandre.

"Only chaos and blood," Melisandre answered. She stood between Stannis and Matthew, as trust was not yet fully established.

"I trust you'll be able to keep any enemies from reaching me," Matthew ordered his Kingsguard.

"No one will lay a hand on you while I draw breath, Your Grace," Barristan promised.

_No time like the present. . . _Slowly, quietly, guards opened the gate and extinguished the torches to prevent any nearby enemies from seeing them. Outside the castle, Matthew found himself unable to see more than a few feet in front of him.

Stannis moved on the ground silently despite his armor. Matthew did the same, no one speaking a word. With them were thirty Lannister and Baratheon men-at-arms, trying to hide their fearful expressions. Barristan and Mandon Moore stayed in front of Matthew, swords drawn.

Matthew listened intently for any sounds. Each footstep echoed through his ears, his heartbeat quickening. Melisandre promised to shield their presence, but Matthew refused to rely on such a thing alone. In the enemy lines, Matthew spotted numerous torches, particularly on the left side of their camp.

_Just have to take out the sentries. . . _Matthew searched for shadows within the darkness. With few natural obstacles, both sides would find it extremely difficult to hide. He clutched his hammer and steadied his breathing.

Gasps uttered from his men upon a shadow spotted. Matthew moved to one of his crossbowmen and whispered: "Hit him in the throat. Quickly, before he spots us!" Two bolts rang out in the shadow's direction. A crash to the ground informed Matthew who they spotted was genuine.

Screams rang out among the rear of the northern lines. Stannis grabbed Matthew's arm, nonverbally instructing him to hold back. Flames lit up the night sky, providing light to ally and enemy alike. Matthew hoped his forces would get away in time. Based on his position, they were perhaps a hundred yards away from the nearest camp. "This way," Melisandre pointed. Matthew looked up at her, uncertain.

"You can trust in her judgment," Stannis whispered.

"Are you certain you should be trusting her?" Barristan worried. "Those who follow the Lord of Light are known to be fanatics."

"Right now, I don't have much choice," Matthew held the same unease. He heard the clashing of swords at the back, and screams waking up those who were still asleep. Matthew's mind went on autopilot, putting one foot in front of the other. Soon the moment would be upon him.

A sentry spotted Matthew's group and ran to inform the others. Three crossbow bolts disappeared into the dark, Matthew uncertain whether they hit their marks. "I thought your powers were supposed to conceal us," Matthew griped to Melisandre.

"They are less effective when you're standing right in front of him," Melisandre admitted. Gurgles from a few dozen feet away indicated at least one of the bolts hit its mark. Stannis moved forward, heedless of Melisandre's worried look.

Expecting Stannis intended for them to follow, Matthew did so. With less than a 100 feet between him and the camps, adrenaline flowed through his veins. The screams from the back of the camp subsided, but the enemy was likely alert and ready now.

Between the tents, Matthew made out guardsmen huddling together for protection. Armor was minimal, save for a breastplate and helmet. "Now," Matthew gave the order. A spear caught one in the throat, a second fell to a crossbow bolt, but the third deflected it with his shield.

"Raiders!" he screamed. A fourth bolt rang out but it too missed.

"Come on, we're not going to have much time!" Matthew sent his men ahead while he brought up the rear. Melisandre whispered in a language he couldn't understand, setting nearby tents on fire. Multiple men ran out, covered in flames, pleading to be put out.

Lannister and Baratheon men cheered, an act that made Matthew and Stannis cringe. Nearby Northern were slaughtered if they were unable to retreat. One man and his squires fell in the middle of putting his armor on.

Matthew's adrenaline screamed of him to join the battle but he held back. No need to risk his life unless it proved to be necessary. His men ripped open every tent within range and killed those who resided inside. Men, women, child. . . it made no difference to them.

"Retreat!" Matthew called out to them. Nobody could afford to stay in one place long. The northmen were taken by surprise, but they would soon rally. Raising his voice as loud as he dared, Matthew screamed: "Fall back!"

Those who still held enough discipline followed orders and ran out to their previous location. Others were caught in the battle fever, swords and spears aiming at any human target they could find.

"We can't make them see sense, nor can we linger," Stannis pointed out.

"You're right." Matthew sighed. He hated leaving his men behind, but they refused to see sense. "Get back to Duskendale while we still can!" All men who regained control of themselves sprinted back to the city walls. Four men charged towards Matthew, shouting their location.

Matthew raised his hammer, only for Barristan and Mandon to intercept them. All four were killed with a handful of strokes before they got within fifteen feet of him.

As they retreated, Matthew caught a few glimpses of his troops being slaughtered. He shook his head; there was nothing that could be done for them. Only his old instincts kept him from fleeing into the night. Matthew kept his face stoic, knowing he needed to display strength to his men.

"They're out there! Find them!" A cry went up. Melisandre whispered to herself, though Matthew could not make out what she was saying. Enemy soldiers searched on all directions, nor daring to use torches for fear of being too easily spotted.

Matthew' men fell back by groups, with him bringing up the rear. Melisandre gave him a reproachful look, reminding him that he couldn't behave as if he was any other soldier. His heart rate elevated, body anticipating being struck by arrows and clubs at any moment.

In the confusion, northmen soldiers and their allies occasionally killed one another. Those closest to the gate sprinted behind the safety it provided, Matthew increasing his pace, although his body struggled to run in armor. _Come on, keep moving! _He encouraged himself.

Matthew was ready to vomit by the time he reached the gate. A line of pikemen assembled behind, intent on intercepting any enemies who attempted to rush forward. "Close those. . . close the gates," Matthew panted after a couple minutes. Stray soldiers ran inside in a panic, several soiling themselves in the process.

` Despite losses, the raid had been a spectacular success. Nearly 100 enemy men-at-arms had been killed for an exchange of less than 20 Lannisters. Matthew had his armor removed and collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to put on his usual chain mail.

The next morning, however, Matthew woke up with confidence. _Maybe I'll get lucky and they're already turning on each other. _Joffrey laughed in approval, Matthew very much wishing he didn't have to deal with the little bastard inside his head. _It's when he starts approving that I worry. _

After a small breakfast, Matthew marched up to the city walls to witness his handiwork. His nostrils picked up the faint smell of smoke. Squinting, he could just make out destroyed tents and supplies. The Northmen had moved closer in the night, with their encampments just a few hundred yards away.

"All right, they've learned I'm not someone to be trifled with." Matthew announced to his men. Now that they'd seen some action, his soldiers appeared far more confident than before. Spears and swords went up, the men cheering. "They're ready to shit themselves out there! We can hit them anytime, anywhere, until they beg for mercy."

"All hail the King!" the cry went up. Matthew chose his best guards to stand alongside Barristan. Despite it being a siege, he had no intention of being idle.

He spotted half a dozen trebuchets ready for action. "They'll do nicely." Matthew nodded. "Wheel them into the courtyard." The city guard hastened to obey his orders, placing each one less than fifty yards from the walls.

"What do you have in mind, Your Grace?" A guard inquired.

"I'm going to have them eat shit: literally," Matthew announced to the city guard. "Start emptying chamber pots into the trebuchets and launch them at the enemy. Any animal dung as well. Let's see how long they last plagued by disease." _Should give shit-slinging a whole new meaning. _

Hundreds of smallfolk lined up with the contents of their chamber pots. Matthew did his best not to curl his nose. The northmen were out of effective range, but at least some of the filth would be out of the city. Far as he could see, Duskendale possessed no waste disposal system.

"And. . . fire!" Matthew stepped back to make sure none of it spilled on him. All five launched their payload hundreds of yards. "Reload!" The process continued until all the smallfolk's contents were rained down upon his enemy.

"Any animals or people die during the siege, launch them over; let the northmen choke on it." Those operating the trebuchets nodded in understanding. Matthew didn't expect them to try storming the city, not unless they were suicidal, but preparations had to be made for it.

"Strange to see a King who behaves the way you do," Melisandre commented.

"Shouldn't you be hovering around— and sleeping with— Azor Azai up there?" Matthew pointed in the castle's direction.

"I go where I am needed, Matthew," Melisandre reminded. "And I wish to learn more of you."

"Can't you see it in the flames? I'll admit, your conjuring was useful, but I'm definitely not going to be relying on your concealment abilities in the future."

"The flames tell me little of you, save for that you are not of this world. Prophecy gives me little information as well."

"Word of advice about prophecies: they never mean what you think they do." Matthew had read enough fiction to understand that. "Reinforcements should arrive within two weeks, perhaps less if the weather holds. Course, I intend to ensure by that point, they'll be in no position to fight."

"You should not risk your life so cavalierly, Matthew." Melisandre stared. "In my presence, you are in little danger, but when I am away, I can do little."

"Stop calling me that; we're in public." Matthew lowered his voice. The day was spent inspiring his troops and working on his hammer skills. While Matthew had vastly improved from his first day in Westeros, he was still mediocre at best. Memories of his battle with Loras entered Matthew's mind.

That night, he launched more raids, this time deciding not to participate. _I've already inspired my troops enough and they've seen I can hold my own. _As before, orders were given to ignore Bolton formations. Yet he could not stop himself from watching the proceedings, asking how many of his men would not return.

Matthew didn't intend to kill large numbers of enemies, though he would be delighted at the result. He wanted them unbalanced, angry, more prone toward making mistakes. Outraged cries followed his men, the gate shut as soon as Matthew was reasonably sure all survivors were inside.

"Looks like they've got the same idea." Matthew wasn't positive but doubtless his opponents would attempt the same tactic. He heard two arrows impact against the wall, deciding not to tempt fate any longer. And so it went for another four days. Raids against their camps, raids on the wall, with an attempt to subvert the gates ending in an execution.

"We can conclude our negotiations once the battle is won," Matthew declared during their next meeting.

"That's not likely to be far off," Matthew pointed out. "Bolton's practically throwing them in our direction. And since we're undergoing siege, we have plenty of time to work out the details. You've seen enough of my character."

"All you've wanted to show me, at least," Stannis countered. "You cannot judge a man solely by a few meetings."

"We work far better together than we do apart." Matthew pushed. "What good can you do on your own? Even assuming you do kill me, all your opponents possess numbers vastly superior to your own. The Tyrells will never support you, many of the Storm lords still do not. Neither will Dorne rise to your cause."

"I can admit to respecting your military prowess," Stannis conceded. "Still inferior to my own, but you must just be able to survive."

"I'm accustomed to a very different form of warfare." Matthew shrugged. "But right now, what I'm looking for is an answer. Not long from now, this battle will be over, forcing us to come to an agreement. . . or else kill one another."

"The easiest thing would be to kill you now." Stannis considered. "So long as you live, you are a threat, and right now, you are in no position to protect yourself. Even if you overcome me, Melisandre has abilities you can only guess at." He paused for a moment. "Yet. . . the threat we face will require unpleasant decisions."

"Do we have an agreement, then?" Matthew pushed Stannis. He was beginning to think all his efforts would be for nothing.

"Only with the greatest reluctance, Matthew," Stannis used his real name. "But I will not accept being Hand of the King."

"Why?" Matthew's suspicions peaked.

"I will not work alongside Tywin Lannister, or any Lannister, for they will ensure our doom in the war to come," Stannis announced. "I will work alongside you and you alone, but I accept no position in King's Landing."

"If you refuse my offer, why are you still willing to work with me?"

"Because you are one but of a handful who recognizes the threat we face. I am only making this agreement with the knowledge of who you really are. As I have no other choice in the matter, I will rescind claims of your bastardy."

"I'm aware they're true, unfortunately. I find the prospect no more pleasant than you."

"And because you're still a threat, or more precisely, Joffrey is." Stannis ground his teeth. "I won't allow someone like him to assume the throne and I remain skeptical of your promises that he will not regain control. Should that occur, I will end your life, heedless of the consequences to me."

_Knew there would be a catch. _"I'd rather listen to him than have Joffrey anywhere near my loved ones."

"Millions of lives depend on what we do here. You are a lynchpin; that much I can see."

"I'm amazed you're not demanding I marry your daughter." Shireen was kind but a bit too young for his tastes.

"I'll never allow the likes of Joffrey anywhere near Shireen." Stannis scoffed. "You may control his body, but the blood is still his. A spawn of incest will never give my daughter children."

"So do we have an agreement?" Matthew extended his hand. Stannis gripped his elbow instead, appearing unhappy but resigned to the arrangement.

XXXXXXXXXX

I know I didn't mention too many details of the battle, but the outcome of this really isn't in doubt. With insufficient numbers and Tywin less than two weeks away, they'd need a miracle to get through the defenses. The real clash between Robb and Matthew should be in another four-five chapters.


	20. Betrayal

"My Lord, we estimate slightly more than 2,000 Northmen and their allies," A scout informed Addam Marbrand.

"Good, we'll be able to overwhelm them shortly." Marbrand nodded.

"My Lord, it appears as if the King has not been idle. I spotted many burned tents and considerable disruption."

"We'll give them something new to think about soon." Marbrand would have preferred to allow his men to rest after marching them at such a quick pace. King's Landing to Duskendale in ten days was a feat almost unheard. However, Tywin was adamant, and he knew better than to disobey the old lion.

If there were only 2,000 left, Joffrey's forces inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy. What was to be done about Stannis, Marbrand did not know, but that would be a concern only after the battle was won.

Out of the eleven scouts Marbrand sent out, eight returned to camp. The other three were likely caught and killed; scouts had short life expectancies. "If they've caught scouts, they know we're here, so we need to act quickly." Marbrand assembled the pikemen and longbowmen. Cavalry would be responsible for the breaking the enemy flank.

Despite being in dire need of rest himself, Marbrand galloped to the center of the line. While many leaders fought on the front because they believed they needed to display courage to their men, he was a more pragmatic sort.

The remaining Northmen assembled their forces, forming a line of pikes and archers. With few natural defenses they could use, most moved out of range of Duskendale's defenses to avoid being attacked on two fronts.

Longbowmen rained down arrows on the enemy formation. Lannister and Stark cavalry engaged one another, preventing the other from hitting their flanks. "Hold firm!" Marbrand ordered. Superior numbers were no guarantee of victory.

The Starks possessed fewer longbowmen, but those not lucky enough to possess plate armor were hideously vulnerable to them. Arrows penetrated mail and less-covered limbs, those who were wounded ignored by their comrades. Few gave a thought to the fate of peasants.

Marband moved his horse to the back, not intending to become a target for the enemy. He kept his eyes on the rear. However unlikely it was that they would be ambushed, he intended to be ready for every possibility.

Screams echoed through the battlefield, the clashing of swords of flesh audible to every man who stood and fought. Barrier troops moved forward to ensure the line did not break. Lannister longbowmen turned their arrows toward the horses, shots to the legs forcibly dismounting Stark cavalry. Those who lost their horse seldom lived long.

Infantry pushed their shields together and crouched down, with only a handful of arrows able to penetrate the wood. Marbrand rode back and forth, searching for an opening in the enemy defenses.

When the arrow storm lightened, the Lannister marched forward to engage the Starks, who chose to hold position. Marbrand kept his reserves back, not wanting to use them until the time was right.

Small gaps appeared in the Stark lines, although their horsemen prevented it from being exploited. Their enemy had only thin fortifications, yet even these could present a formidable barrier. Marbrand galloped, ordering those in the rear: "Break and surround the enemy lines! We outnumber them two to one!" Those in front, so long as they hold, would prevent the Starks from countering them.

Stark archers changed targets from the infantry to their counterpoints. Most Lannister were a shade too slow to notice as much, many suffering wounds before they readjusted. Marbrand didn't expect the enemy to win, but they could inflict crippling damage if they didn't break.

"Have the heavy cavalry fall back to our lines!" He ordered his squares. It was a risk and could be a disaster if the Starks overwhelmed them, but if done correctly, it would ensure victory.

The gates of Duskendale opened, unknown to all but a handful. Joffrey galloped forward, Warhammer in hand, pointing at the rear of the Stark lines. Their enemy had neglected to post pickets at the rear.

Marbrand had just reformed the cavalry when he spotted new fighters in the distance. For a moment, he feared Stark reinforcements until it became apparent their lines were breaking. "Now! Now! Hit them!" He joined the assault on their flanks, trading his sword for a lance.

Marbrand skewered a Stark bannermen who broke from the main line, losing his lance in the process. Joffrey's men cut them nearly in half, enduring only a handful of casualties. The pike line shattered, men fleeing in all directions. Eager for blood, the Lannisters pursued them. With no natural defenses, the terrified men found themselves with nowhere to retreat to.

Those who could not flee surrendered in hopes of saving their lives. Weapons were thrown down, men falling to their knees. A few were killed, with the Lannister's blood up, but Marbrand and Joffrey took control of their men before a massacre broke out.

"Your Grace, good to see you safe," Marbrand bowed his head.

"Glad to see our relief force has arrived at last, although there was little else to do." Joffrey smirked. "I believe my men have learned a great deal from the experience, however."

"Good to see you alive, Your Grace." Marbrand nodded. He hid his surprise of seeing Stannis and his red witch riding alongside Joffrey. He was most interested to know how the King had accomplished it.

"Stark's getting overconfident if he thought he could pull this off," Joffrey announced. "Speaking of which, we have a new ally: my Uncle, Stannis Baratheon!" Stannis visibly ground his teeth, Melisandre whispering in his ear.

"I am grateful for your mercy. . . Your Grace." Stannis choked out the words.

"We'll accomplish quite a bit together." Joffrey clapped his hands. "Before we return to King's Landing, I suggest we rest for a brief period. All of us need it after such an experience." His eyes looked over the Lannister bannermen. "I don't think anyone will object."

"Of course not, Your Grace." Marbrand agreed at once. The trip back would be slower, but Stark had suffered enough of a setback to where another offensive in the short-term was unlikely.

XXXXXXXXXX

_ That should convince Tywin I'm sincere in my attempt. _Throwing so many Northern forces away meant there was no coming back for Roose Bolton. Tywin would see what the battle meant, even if no one else did.

Bolton wasn't overly concerned about Stark finding out. The boy was too honorable for his own good, a flaw he shared with his departed father. Ramsey was already assembling troops to slaughter the wildlings. . . and perhaps more, should it prove necessary.

Ramsey would be the only real complication to becoming Warden of the North. Roose cared nothing if he chose to entertain himself, but that he did it so blatantly and for no reason could cause many problems in the future. _He's young, and can still learn. _Were Ramsey not his son, Roose would gladly avenge Domeric by putting him under his blade.

His son had perhaps been the only one Roose truly cared for beyond a certain fondness for their company. Ramsey would serve his purpose, however, at least for now. Once he was Warden of the North, Bolton knew he would no longer require Tywin's backing. The bastard was at the Wall for life, too honorable to break his vows, however much he might wish to. After so many years, the Boltons would once again rule the North.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Do try and take care of yourself, brother," Tyrion commented at Jaime's bedside. "Surely as the Kingslayer, you'd prefer a more dignified end."

"There's nothing dignified about this." Jaime moaned. For a couple days, Tyrion feared his brother would die of pneumonia. He had hardly left him alone, having neglected his previous duties as Master of Coin. "Give me a sword in my hand and a battle any day."

"So regale me: how did you manage to escape?" Tyrion wanted to know the details. He'd always envied Jaime: he possessed looks the likes of which made whores fantasize about him, his skill with a sword was legendary, and Jaime possessed Tywin's favor. Yet Tyrion could not find it within himself to hate him.

"I'll tell you about it later." Jaime coughed. "Thought for a while there, they were going to cut my sword hand off." He shuddered at such a fate, wondering how he would have taken losing his fighting ability.

"What would you have done with yourself? Perhaps you could have taken up drinking alongside me." Tyrion poured himself another glass of wine. Jaime glared at him in response. "It was a jest, brother, nothing more."

"I'd rather die than losing my fighting ability." Jaime snapped.

"Don't be so morose. Life is full of possibilities, so long as you don't exhaust yourself. I trust you've been listening to Grand Maester Pycelle's instructions."

"On father's orders, yes." Jaime felt ready to resume his duties, but their father wasn't convinced. He sniffled, wiping away the snot dribbling down his nose. "Need to get back into the training field. I'm not about to let my talent atrophy."

"Think of it this way: you get to spend some time with your family." Tyrion did say "Cersei" but the implication was there. He'd known of their relationship since he was fifteen, though Jaime wasn't yet aware of this.

"I'd love to see the look on Stark's face when he sees me again." Jaime grinned. "What do you think he'll say?"

"Who wouldn't want a second meeting with the Kingslayer?" Tyrion laughed.

"That's all I am to people. Aerys. . . always comes back to the Mad King." Jaime spat. Tyrion had asked many times what his real reason was, but his brother always refused to speak. The brothers made small talk for a while before Tyrion left to visit Shae. Having Jaime back in King's Landing made the rest of his burden easier. He'd distract Cersei, allowing Tyrion to proceed with his own plans.

Jaime said nothing about it, but he feared for his supposed nephew and secret son. Tyrion chuckled back when he demanded to command the relief force despite his illness. Soon enough, the man would be back in King's Landing, where he'd be forced to confront him again.

_Perhaps I did react a little too rashly, _Tyrion considered. His worry for Shae had overwhelmed his good since and he had made a threat it would be unwise to carry out. Even assuming his mother and sister believed him, whoever controlled Joffrey's body now was one of the few allies in King's Landing.

Soothe his ego, apologize, and do what he could to mend fences. The man was lonely and away from everything familiar, leaving him an easy mark for someone willing to provide what he wanted. Sending him to the wall wasn't an idle threat and Tyrion doubted his father would interfere with it. He shuddered at the idea of having to face wildlings.

_And the man still needs my help. _Tyrion doubted whoever replaced Joffrey would survive long without his guidance. Too out of his depth when it came to court intrigue. He couldn't afford to alienate him.

Bronn moved to his side, face nearly impossible to read. He'd recently dealt with a singer who became too bold in making demands of Tyrion. _See how fast I learn my lesson, Father? _

Four guards stood at the door to Shae's chambers; Tyrion refused to call it a prison. Unknown to Cersei, all were now on his payroll, loosening her hold. His sister was steadily losing support and his father's presence meant her ability to fight back was limited.

"If you would, I have a friend to visit," Tyrion requested the door to be opened. Even if they turned on him, he was certain Bronn could kill all four Gold Cloaks. He felt his cock stiffening at the very thought of Shae. Tyrion pushed the door open, anticipating an afternoon of passionate sex.

"By the Gods. . ." Tyrion whispered. Shae lay dead on the bed, sheets soaked with blood. Blood pools formed around the floor, dripping down Shae's opened wrist. All her clothes had been cut off, eyes still open wide. Gashes throughout her body marred her corpse, including one between her legs. Tyrion did not dare look down and could only pray Shae was already dead by the time this mutilation took place.

Tyrion approached his dead lover, intent on discovering who was responsible for this. It took all his self-restraint not to order Bronn to kill the Gold Cloaks where they stood. All four stood there, open-mouthed, helping to convince him they were not responsible for the murder.

Several blonde hairs on the floor caught Tyrion's attention. _Cersei. . . _his teeth grit together with the promise of retribution. He hadn't expected his father to destroy the hold she still had on him, but yet again, Tyrion realized he underestimated what Cersei was capable of. _You're going to pay for this! _No, Shae wasn't Tysha, but to him, it felt almost like his childhood love lost all over again.

His plans would have to be accelerated. Tywin wouldn't be able to protect Cersei from his wrath now. _And I know something you don't, dear sister. I promised I'd hurt you for this. _Tyrion kept his face free of expression, but there would be a reckoning.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Just have to wait for an opportunity," Theon remarked. He'd caught only two glimpses of Sansa during his time at King's Landing. There was at least no obvious sign of mistreatment, but with Jaime having escaped and returned to his family, she could no longer count on such protection.

"We should enter the Red Keep," One suggested. "It's said Maegor built a series of passageways that allowed him access to every room inside."

"And how do you propose we find them?" Theon snapped. He hated King's Landing: the stink, the filth, the desperation. No Ironborn would have been content to live in such a fashion. _Not that I'd ever be welcomed back there anyway. _Despite Balon being willing to throw his life aside for revenge, part of Theon still missed him.

"We'll need to be patient. . . maybe a few bribes," Another suggested. "Joffrey's not here right now and from what I've heard, he'll be dead soon."

"He's not, but Tywin Lannister is, and I'd much rather deal with the bastard than him," A third pointed out.

"Nobody said this was going to be easy," Theon considered. The direct route into the Red Keep was suicide. Perhaps an indirect one. . .

Theon's eyes wandered over the local brothels. He had more than enough money to afford them, but Robb gave strict orders that all gold received was to be used for freeing Sansa only. Despite that, a few times Theon had very nearly broken.

Theon tightened the hood around his head. The Imp at least would remember him, and if they were spotted, they'd be executed. . . quickly, if they were lucky. Theon refused to depend on luck.

They didn't have much time. The King would soon be returning and once Joffrey came back, any chance they had of getting Sansa out of the city would be gone. Each time Theon turned a corner, he feared the guards would seize them all. Every other person was a spy for some noble or another. At least that's what he had been told about King's Landing.

"My Lord, if we attempt to rescue Lady Sansa. . . we could end up getting her killed," Someone declared.

"I know the risk, but how long will it be before they kill her anyway?" Or worse, married to a Lannister. The North would never accept a Lannister as warden, which was the only reason they would keep Sansa alive. _And Joffrey's a monster; he'd kill her just for the fun of it. _

The Red Keep had some of the few honest Gold Cloaks in the city, but perhaps there was another way. Having an idea, Theon led his men outside of the city. "Hold, state your business." Two of the Gold Cloaks extended their hands.

"Very well, we are going on a hunting trip." The lie was weak, but four gold dragon proved sufficient to allow them to pass. That was how things worked in King's Landing.

"What are you intending?" One of his men asked. Theon did not answer right away, walking along the city walls. He privately admitted that he was acting mostly on instinct, but it was the only way he could see that Sansa would be rescued.

Theon marched down to the beach, where no other individuals were in sight. "We can't fight our way into the Red Keep, but every city has hidden entrances." He took a deep breath, staring out at the sea. "All we need to do is find a cavern."

"And fuck them in the ass," His second-in-command chuckled.

"Exactly. Lady Sansa's counting on all of us!" Theon prayed to the Drowned God for success. It would still be a massive risk, but was no longer an impossibility.

Theon stayed to the coast, diving behind the rocks to avoid being spotted by passing ships. He made out a handful in the distance, sailing East. For a moment, he almost felt like he was back home. Theon pulled out his bow and prepared an arrow. If anyone was spotted, he could put an arrow through their throat at a hundred yards. "No witness," Theon ordered. They couldn't risk being spotted.

After marching for close to an hour with no sign of human life, Theon spotted a cave. "Bows up," The closer they moved to King's Landing, the more dangerous it became. Theon climbed over the rocks, nearly slipping on the broken concrete.

Each of his party stepped with great care, with the catacombs rarely occupied by human souls. Theon felt his muscles grew weak, his eyes unable to see more than a few feet in front of them. Even in this direction, finding Sansa was far from a guarantee.

_You can turn back, tell Robb that there's no sign of Sansa. _A voice whispered in his ear. Theon turned to his men, terrified faces visible in the dim light. If he gave even a suggestion to retreat, nobody would look back. _Why am I doing this? I'd just be throwing my life anyway in a futile gesture. What would Ned Stark do? _

And no one would ever know if he retreated. Sansa would be well-protected with the best guards Joffrey could afford. Whatever the decision was, Theon knew he had to make it soon. There would be no turning back.

"All right, stop." Theon raised his hand. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. "Here's what we're going to do. . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

"She's still in love with him." Catelyn sighed as she set down Sansa's latest letter. "She thinks she can marry Joffrey to end the war."

"If him killing our father wasn't enough to change her mind, nothing will be." Much as Robb wanted to believe she was being forced to write such letters, he couldn't convince himself of it. Sansa had written of how he rescued Jeyne Poole, fed the hungry, fought in the vanguard. . . all of it sounded like nonsense. "That will make it harder to get her out of King's Landing, however."

"Robb. . . perhaps you should consider the idea." Catelyn hesitated.

"Allow her to marry that monster?! Never!" Robb stood up and slammed his fists on the table. "Let her spend her life around Lannisters? They burned our homes, ravaged our women, destroyed our food, murdered our prisoners, and you suggest I make peace with them?!"

"Do you see any way to win this war?" Catelyn asked. "And is it your desire to become King?"

"They're the ones who declared me King, not I!" Robb exclaimed. "All I wanted was to free my father and sisters! Yet what will they say if I abandon the effort and submit?"

"You would let your pride led us to destruction?"

"Do you think so little of my capabilities?" Robb snapped. "I've won every battle I've fought! I have the Vale fighting alongside me, and if I can form an alliance with the Reach, this war is won!"

"And have you heard back for the Queen of Thorns?" Robb was forced to admit he hadn't. "Even Torrhen Stark bent the knee when Aegon the Conqueror arrived. Winter is nearly here and if this war doesn't end soon, far more are going to die."

"I will not abandon Sansa." Robb groaned. "I'll come up with something." Even he was forced to concede how unlikely that was. If he won at all, the effort would take many years, and they would have to halt their campaigns during the winter years. Such efforts were rare and always ended in disaster, even when the Targaryens were at the height of their power.

"I've already lost Ned. I don't wish to lose you and Sansa as well."

"I knew the risks when this war began. A short war would serve the interests of the Lannisters. Southerners are soft and unused to hardship. A long war would be better for us. Even in winter years, some crops grow, although the harvests are smaller." _Retreating doesn't mean we've lost the war. _The Lannisters could not follow, even with a Tyrell alliance. If they tried, their troops would perish from the elements.

"No matter what you decide, I will assist you," Catelyn decided. "I only ask you to carefully consider the ramifications of continuing this war."

"Even if we can't yet take King's Landing, that doesn't mean we've lost this war. Theon will get Sansa out, and we'll be able to defeat both the Ironborn and wildlings. They will stand little chance against our bannermen. Winter will be hard, but we will survive. Once it's over, we'll be ready to resume." He knew the risk. Once his men returned home, many would not wish to march South again. Perhaps they would settle for Northern independence if taking the Iron Throne was beyond their capabilities.

"I'm going to have you depart for Riverrun, have you see your father one last time before the end."

"Robb, I'm certain he will last a while longer." Catelyn didn't believe that at all, but Robb still needed her support.

After writing down ideas and possible methods of winning the war against the odds, Bolton marched in with a letter. "My Lord, you have received a letter from the Iron Throne. I believe they may be offering terms."

"Hand it here," Bolton handed a box to him with the Lannister seal on it as well. Provided they weren't too vicious and gave Sansa back, Robb would be willing to accept. His men would accept a face-saving exit, which would allow them to keep their pride. Winter was coming and almost everyone was predicting a nasty one.

_Stark: _

_I have a special gift enclosed for you. No doubt you've been missing your precious Sansa and wondering how she's fared in my care. _Robb opened the box, fearing the worst. "By the Gods. . ." Catelyn whispered.

Inside the box were two pale fingers. They had decayed on the journey, but Sansa's ring and necklace were unmistakable. Forcing his rage down, Robb read the rest of the letter.

_I found your Ironborn brother in King's Landing. It took little persuasion to get him to speak. He soon begged me to torture Sansa instead of him. _

_Your sister proved to be a coward. At first, when I strapped her to the table, she pleaded with me to live. Eventually, she begged me for death. Bone by bone, I removed her hands and feet, giving her to each of my men to enjoy as they wished. Sansa eventually stopped fighting; perhaps she grew to enjoy it. _

_When I get my hands on you, your mother, the wolf bitch who savaged me, and all your unwashed northern brutes will receive the same treatment. Sansa suffered a traitor's death, a warning to any that dare to defy me. _

_Joffrey Baratheon,_

_King of the Seven Kingdoms_

Robb set the letter down, trembling with rage. The idea that he would never see his sister again, and for a monster like Joffrey to treat her so brutally beforehand. . .

"He's going to die for this," Robb promised. Forgotten were all the logistical difficulties of taking King's Landing, as was the imminent threat of winter. It didn't matter that the Lannister army took the field, nor the loss of so many soldiers at Duskendale.

"I'll gut him while you watch!" The Greatjon offered. "Southerners have always been a bunch of traitorous brutes! The North'd be better rid of them."

"I'm going to kill him myself." Robb's voice went quiet. Perhaps he could give Joffrey to Roose Bolton first, have him beg for death the way Sansa supposedly had.

"Is there any way this could be untrue?" Catelyn grasped for a way not to believe her daughter was dead.

"It could be attempting to lure us into a trap," Yohn Royce suggested. "The Lannisters cannot take Harrenhal, nor can they control the Riverlands in any meaningful way. But outside Harrenhal, we would be vulnerable to attack."

"If he thinks I'm going to run. . ." Robb considered his words. He would rather have believed the letter was a lie, but Joffrey possessed Sansa's ring, her finger, and knowledge of Theon.

"Perhaps you can lure him in with a trap of his own," Bolton suggested. Robb wasn't inclined to take any of his advice, not when it had led to a disaster at Duskendale.

Robb thought it over, knowing he could not look weak. Such a blatant act of provocation could not go unpunished and Jaime was no longer around to punish. Tywin wouldn't care if he took out his frustrations on Lannister prisoners.

He and his advisors argued over military strategy long into the night. The Greatjon and Karstark pushed for an immediate attack, slaughtering all Lannisters in King's Landing. Royce and Maege Mormont argued for a more cautious strategy, living off the Crownlands and placing the city under siege. "They won't be able to feed half a million people if we control the roads." She argued. "Give a few weeks, the people will rise up against their Lannister overlords."

"You think the Lannisters bastards will care if they starve?" Greatjon scoffed. "They have the swords, and the equipment, so it will not matter. Their gates are weak and the reports of new weapons won't matter against Northern grit!" He turned to Catelyn and said in a softer voice: "I'll avenge your daughter, My Lady. On that, you have my vow."

"I thank you for that, My Lord." Catelyn gave a heartbroken smile.

"Your Grace, we have also received letters from the Night's Watch requesting assistance." Bolton spoke up. "I believe your bastard brother still resides at Castle Black."

"I've already sent as many men North as I can spare." Robb sighed. "More, even. We cannot fight against the Lannisters and Mance Rayder at the same time." At the pace the wildlings were moving, he considered it unlikely any further men-at-arms would arrive in time to make any difference. The Night's Watch would have to win or lose on what they currently possessed.

"You would let those savages ravage your lands?" Karstark accused.

"I have already ordered my bastard to assemble men to deal with them." Bolton promised. "None will survive on our side of the Wall."

"You have given me much to consider, My Lords." Robb politely dismissed them. He looked over the logistical reports. They could subsist on Crownland farms, assuming they weren't burned. While some of his men would want to do so, he couldn't allow it. _Send a message to the smallfolk that so long as they provide us with sufficient food, they are not to be harmed. _Burned farmland would do no good, not when their supplies were already marginal.

"I'd love nothing more than to wrap my hands around Cersei's throat." Catelyn tore the letter to pieces. In the presence of just her son, she allowed her to shed a few tears.

"I'm going to kill Joffrey myself and Tywin." Robb knew killing his sister was a ploy to get him to overextend his lines, but he had his own ways of countering it. "Or perhaps I'll give him to Lord Bolton. Flaying's outlawed in the North, but we're not in the North."

"Would you do the same to Tommen and Myrcella?" Catelyn wondered.

"No," Robb denied immediately. Abominations of incest they might be, but among them, only Joffrey had earned such wrath. "I'll send Tommen to the Wall, Myrcella to the Silent Sisters." _You've made a fatal mistake, Joffrey. You think to send me into a trap, but you've just guaranteed no mercy. _


	21. The enemy within

"Haven't we been here before?" Theon questioned, looking at a dead end.

"No. . . I don't think so," one of his associates responded.

"Of course we've been here before!" Another screamed. "You went the wrong way!"

Theon swung the torch around, trying to retrace their steps. His stomach rumbled, remembering he was out of food. How long they had been trapped in the catacombs, he did not know. Had it been hours? Days? "Well, it obviously isn't this way." Theon felt the concrete wall mocked his efforts to enter King's Landing.

He kicked aside a nearby skull, part of him wondering if he would soon join the dead inside. _No, I will not die so easily. In a little while, we'll find Sansa. _The torch dimmed, providing only a slight amount of light. Theon knew it wouldn't be long until it went out for good. And then. . .

"We're all doomed, aren't we?" Someone gulped.

"We'll be fine," Theon tried to say, but had his own doubts. He paused, trying to remember where their last turn was. _Perhaps going in here wasn't such a great idea. _He'd expected to take guards by surprise, not get lost in. . . wherever they were.

Each footstep echoed throughout the catacombs. Conversation faded, with hope and terror in Theon's heart. With no torches to light their way, they were forced to find their way back through memory. "We got to get out of here soon, or we're never leaving."

Theon thought it over for a minute. "All right, we'll leave and figure out another way to rescue Lady Sansa." A polite lie. Once they made it out- if they made it out- Theon intended to retreat back to Robb and report his failure. Yes, his adopted brother would be angry, but it was vastly preferable to dying in this godsforsaken place.

His foot missed a step and Theon stumbled, slamming his knees on the rock. Closing his eyes and holding the pain back, he allowed one of the men to assist him. Theon moved the torch forward, spotting. . . "By the Gods!" He jumped back, fearing an assault.

"The hell is that?"

"It's. . ." Theon spotted teeth nearly as long as he was. "I think this is where all the dragon skulls were put." Considering the size, he realized it could be no other dragon than Balerion. Its snout had been destroyed, but the skull was otherwise intact. Despite their situation, Theon opened his mouth in awe. Little wonder the dragons were so feared.

"I knew you'd find your way here eventually, Theon Greyjoy," A voice echoed through the catacombs. Theon dropped the torch and raised his bow at their unknown visitor.

"What do you want?" Theon demanded. "Take us to the Red Keep!" A Stark bannerman picked up the torch, carrying it high enough for Theon to make out their visitor. He stared at a portly man wearing a hood, seemingly unconcerned about the bows pointed in his direction.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Theon," He smiled. "You see, if I did that, you'd attempt to rescue Sansa Stark and that I cannot allow."

"And what makes you think you're going to stop me?" Theon kept up his bravado. Only a trace of fear was visible. Whoever this was, he knew his way around when they didn't. "If you help us, you'll be richly rewarded."

"No doubt I would be, but if Lady Sansa isn't dead yet, she soon will be." He expressed a regretful sigh, Theon unable to tell if it was sincere. "It is always the innocent who suffer the most in war. I would have preferred to spare Lady Stark, but circumstances have forced my hand." A man raised his sword and charged forward, only to be killed by two arrows to the throat.

Theon warred with himself to figure out if he could get away with killing whoever they were. Among his party, a couple were primed for action, but most appeared too terrified to move. He searched for whoever his allies were, finding no sign of them.

"I've been watching you for some time," The man confessed. "Quite brave of you to try and rescue a member of the family who kept you as hostage."

"Why are you doing this?" Theon stalled for time while trying to figure out what to do. For all he knew, they had enemies in all directions. Two of his men looked behind them, swinging their swords wildly in hopes of hitting someone.

"Sansa Stark is still infatuated with Joffrey. Given time, she might succeed in forming peace between House Stark and Lannister. That I cannot allow." A third man moved to attack, raising his shield. He was only four feet away from their attacker when more arrows hit him in the back. As if nothing happened, the man went on: "Robb Stark will soon receive a letter from Joffrey bragging about this."

"Regardless of what you've done, you won't be around to enjoy it!" Theon threatened. "I'll get out of here and reveal the truth."

"Do you think I'd be telling you this if there was any possibility you could change the outcome? More innocent blood will spill, I know this, but it is necessary. I have only ever served the realm rather than my own ambitions." For the first time, Theon spotted his attackers. None of them looked over twelve, holding crossbows.

He realized there was no escape, even if they did somehow manage to overpower them. Theon fired his bow directly at the man's heart, intending to take him down as well. One of his children dived in front, the arrow penetrating his shoulder.

Theon felt a horrible pain emanating from the back of his neck. He could hear his men's cries of rage and wished to fight, but his muscles refused to cooperate. The last thing he observed was the man's smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Not quite up to my usual standard. _Jaime observed his four opponents struggling to recover from their blows. He threw the tourney sword down, allowing one of the squires to put it away. Yes, he'd won the battle, but it took much longer than he was accustomed to. _I can't make any mistakes next time I'm on the field. _

He hoped that wouldn't be for a while yet. It had been too long since Jaime had seen his sister, yet there had been no opportunity to have her alone. Seeing her again pushed aside his regrets about Bran Stark. For his family, Jaime would do anything.

Things had changed dramatically since he was last in King's Landing. The royal court gossiped about the changes in Joffrey, that he seemed an almost completely different person. Jaime intended to be more involved in his children's lives, seeing how short life was. No, he could never claim them as his own, but he could still support them. There was no need to be so distant.

Jaime hid his annoyance at seeing the two Kingsguard members left behind: Preston Greenfield and Osmund Kettleblack. Neither of them were fit to wear the white. _But I'm the one they label Kingslayer. _During his fevered dreams, Jaime had been forced to endure Rheagar's accusations saying he was responsible for the children's deaths.

He marched up to the King's chambers to check on Sansa Stark. _Why am I even bothering? The fact we held her was the only reason her brother didn't kill me. _Before his escape, Jaime feared even that wouldn't hold them back much longer. He preferred to die in battle, not as a helpless prisoner.

Jaime glanced over at Sansa's chambers, seeing it bare. At least half a dozen men-at-arms had been assigned to protect her before Joffrey's departure, yet not a soul was to be seen. _This isn't right. _His ears perked up at the sound of screams. Unsheathing his sword, Jaime smashed the door in, breaking the lock with a single kick against the bolt.

Sansa's clothes were torn and covered in blood. At least four children had surrounded her, all carrying knives. Jaime swung his sword four times, each time dealing a fatal blow to Sansa's attackers. He had no time to ask himself what was happening, operating in instinct.

Jaime turned his head, spotting Varys behind a removed brick. The eunuch fled before he could act, placing the brick in its proper place, but Jaime knew what he saw. _Why. . . How. . . _What would Varys want to kill Stark for?

He kneeled down to examine Sansa. Jaime spared a glance at the other girl, but with her throat cut, she was beyond saving. Sansa's eyes could barely keep themselves open. She let out small gasps, in too much pain to scream. Jaime tore away her dress to check the girl's wounds. "By the Gods. . ." He counted at least eight knife wounds and the blood likely concealed more. He doubted there was anything that could be done for her, but he would try. If he'd arrived just a few moments later. . .

_I pushed Bran out of a window and now I'm saving his sister's life. _Jaime hoisted her up over his shoulder. He wondered what Lady Catelyn would think of him now. The Gods indeed had a supreme sense of irony. _Perhaps I'll be able to run that by her; could drive her mad. _

Sansa moaned with each step she took, blood spilling onto Jaime's armor. Those he marched part looked at them with curiosity but Jaime refused to waste time, not when saving her life was an unlikely proposition anyway.

"How. . . what happened?" Pycelle asked once Jaime reached his quarters.

"Varys' little birds tried to kill Sansa," Jaime explained. "I managed to save her just before they would have killed her. Can you do anything?" Pycelle nodded and looked over Sansa's wounds. The girl fell unconscious, which Jaime considered a rare mercy.

"Varys. . . I warned the Spider could not be trusted." Pycelle remarked. He gently wiped the blood away. "I'm going to need a tray of water and assistants to put pressure on the wounds."

"Do you think you'll be able to save her?" Jaime had seen enough battle wounds to know how unlikely that was.

"I will do everything in my power." Pycelle said nothing more, providing all the treatment he could give. Having done his duty, Jaime marched out to inform his family of new developments.

_How could the Spider possibly have gotten inside? _Jaime hadn't had the time to consider it when Sansa was being attacked but now. . . _I've heard mention of secret passageways but I'd discounted it before now. _If Varys could sneak through those, and if every room in the Red Keep had similar entrances.

"Why is there blood on your armor, Jaime?" Tywin raised an eyebrow, alone in the Small Council chambers. He continued writing words Jaime couldn't make out.

"It's Sansa Stark; she was attacked." This got Tywin's attention and he set his quill down. "I saw Varys and his little birds trying to assassinate Sansa. Couldn't save her friend, but I managed to kill them before they could finish her off. Unfortunately, Varys escaped Gods-Know-Where."

"That man should have been killed a long time ago." Tywin got to his feet, glaring. Jaime could face down anyone else but even he wilted in front of Tywin. "How did he get past the guards on her door?"

"He snuck in through passageways in the Red Keep," Jaime explained. "The Mad King made him Master of Whisperers, so perhaps he taught Varys the secret."

"Learning where they go will be our top priority," Tywin announced. "This would explain the recent reports from my own spies. Robb Stark has left Harrenhal with all his forces and now marches toward King's Landing."

"How can that be connected to this?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't believe in coincidences. Were there any guards at her door when you entered?"

"No, it was bare. That was why I marched in. . . that and the screams."

"Have them put to the question and find out how deep Varys' web runs in court. No matter where they hide, his spies will be found."

"I'd like to know who he's working for. He certainly hasn't joined Stark, else Sansa wouldn't be about to die." Jaime didn't think it likely Sansa would pull through, barring a miracle.

"I look forward to asking him that question myself." Tywin thumped his fingers on the table.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I should have impaled that bastard when I had the chance!" Matthew screamed, pacing around. "Varys should have been burned alive alongside Littlefinger." He turned to Jacelyn Bywater and ordered. "As of now, your top priorities are to find Maegor's passageways and hunt down Varys' little birds. They have no tongues and can read and write. Kill them and blind Varys to further developments." Matthew knew innocents would likely be killed in the process, so he gave a momentary prayer for forgiveness for whoever was listening.

"Interesting; you're accused of trying to kill Bran Stark, but you saved Sansa Stark's life," Tyrion commented to his brother.

"Your Grace, the wounds are very serious," Pycelle mumbled. "I will do what I can for her. Maggots should be able to remove the diseased flesh, but Sansa lost a lot of blood." Sansa's eyes were shut, only a faint pulse indicating she was still alive.

"Do everything you can for her," Matthew ordered. "Perhaps Robb might be convinced we weren't responsible." He doubted it, but intended to try nonetheless.

"No need for it; this provides us with an opportunity," Tywin declared. "The boy marches toward King's Landing, overextending himself and becoming vulnerable. It seems the Young Wolf has blundered at last."

"And you're not concerned about outside forces manipulating us?" Matthew warned. "Like. . . whoever Varys is serving. He clearly wants us to weaken each other, so we'd better find out what his goal is. Stark and Lannister forces butchering each other is exactly his intention." He looked at Jaime. "Thank you, Uncle. If not for you, we would have no hope of averting a disaster."

"It's my duty to protect fair maidens. . . even Starks." Jaime smirked.

"Enough of your quips." Tywin rebuked. "It is indeed troubling that Varys was able to work out such a plan underneath our notice."

"You should know. . . who Varys is working for." Matthew braced himself. He wasn't sure he'd be believed, but it had to be said. "He's never been loyal to us, or the Mad King. I know this is going to sound impossible, but. . . Varys is attempting to install Aegon Targaryen on the Iron Throne."

"The boy is long dead, and we need information, not flights of fancy. . . Your Grace," Tywin rebuked. Jaime winced with guilt.

"I've seen it. I don't think it's the actual Aegon, but that's who he'll claim to be. The Golden Company is made up of exiles, correct?"

"Surely they've accommodated themselves to their new home." Tyrion shrugged.

"Memories of a homeland don't disappear. I've seen him. He'll claim to be Aegon and Varys is working to make sure no one is strong enough to oppose him. What connection he has to Daenerys, I don't know."

"Your Grace, we do not have the luxury of jumping at shadows. Aerys' children are dead; I saw the bodies myself. Need I remind you we have more immediate concerns?" Tywin's glare aimed at Matthew.

_Tyrion, back me up here. _He waited for Tyrion to respond. "Next you'll tell me you believe in grumpkins and snarks, nephew." The Imp laughed. _You son of a bitch. _

"Ignoring this threat will be a disaster for ours, and you're the one always speaking of family legacy." Matthew made one last attempt to deter Tywin.

"Varys has been exposed and has the entire city searching for him. Even if the Golden Company were so inclined as to follow this imaginary boy, they could not conquer an entire continent. Formidable sellswords, I grant you, but too few."

_Why am I not surprised they didn't believe me? _Matthew admitted he had only his word to back it up and Tywin wouldn't care about any claims of Melisandre's visions. "What of Daenerys?" He attempted another tactic. "She's sacked Astapor and Yunkai, and is marching on Meereen. She also has three dragons and Varys was appointed by her father."

"He's got to be working for someone, Father," Jaime supported.

"Who does it benefit for us and Starks to destroy each other?" Matthew pushed. "Varys did this for a specific reason. It doesn't matter which of us wins this battle; it serves his purpose regardless."

"He should have been killed long ago, but his skill at gathering information was unmatched," Tywin conceded. "Stark is marching to his destruction. He cannot beat us, either in a siege or in the field, not so overextended."

"Robb's beaten superior numbers before and I wouldn't expect any mercy from him now," Jaime reminded.

"Yes, because you were too eager for battle and glory, getting yourself captured." Tywin snapped. "You divided your forces and allowed Stark to destroy them piecemeal."

"Let's deal with the situation as it stands." Matthew interjected. "And let us consider that even if we do win, our forces are likely to be severely depleted, weakening us for further enemies. I don't intend to be another's puppet."

"With the presumed death of his sister, Stark is unlikely to retreat," Tywin reminded. "And the lion does not cow to threats."

"If Sansa lives, we can prove our innocence," Tyrion remarked. "Granted, that's looking unlikely right now, but that she's alive at all says the girl's stronger than she appears."

"In the meantime, we prepare for a siege," Matthew announced. "Stark isn't likely to storm the walls the way Renly was foolish enough to try."

"Shouldn't your new ally be here to assist you?" Tyrion commented.

"I have them performing other tasks." Stannis refused to be in the same room as any Lannister. Their alliance, if it could be called that, was still fragile.

"I admit to being impressed you persuaded the likes of Stannis Baratheon, but do not trust him too far," Tywin advised. "I am not convinced he has truly given up his attempt for the Iron Throne."

"Neither am I, but having his mind will be useful. Right now, we focus on slowing Robb's forces down. It'll take him weeks to arrive at his current size and they can be whittled away in the meantime. Grandfather, you're the most experienced commander here, so I will leave the details to you. I intend to prepare us for siege." Matthew looked at Jaime. "Uncle Jaime, I want you to look over Sansa, make sure Varys doesn't try to finish what he started."

"This I definitely intend to inform Lady Catelyn of if I see her again." Jaime smirked.

Tywin's lip curled. "I want that eunuch found. We can offer a large reward to any Gold Cloaks who successfully find their way in the passageways. No doubt others will try and bribe them, but we can outbid any of their attempts."

"A siege is likely to last months. We'll need to keep order in the city, prevent anyone from taking advantage of it. Desperate measures weren't needed last time, but Stark has a brain in his head." Matthew rubbed his chin. "It's possible we'll have to expel some residents from the city." He didn't like the idea, but feeding half a million people was a difficult task.

They argued for a while longer, but agreed on their assigned roles. _Okay, we've got maybe a month. Perhaps we could try and intercept Stark, choose a defensive position he can't bypass. _Matthew knew if they made no attempt to contest the enemy outside, it could break their morale.

"Why are you following me, Uncle?" Matthew turned around to see Jaime.

"Your Grace, I am still a member of the Kingsguard and as such, it is my duty to ensure your safety." Jaime responded.

_Right, I almost forgot about that. _"Very well, I must speak with Uncle Stannis." With his position being so irregular, Stannis and Melisandre stayed in a small, nondescript room. The only notable thing inside it was the Lord of Light's banner.

The Queen's Men stared at him for a few moments before they allowed Matthew to enter. "What are you here for?" Stannis snapped.

"This would be much easier if you were more cooperative," Matthew reminded.

"If you wish me to say anything further, you will speak to me alone." Stannis stared at him. Melisandre ran her arm along Matthew's, staring into his eyes. He felt like she was looking into his very soul.

"Your Grace, I must protest. . ." Jaime stammered.

"Wait outside, I trust you can intervene should anything happen," Matthew allowed no argument. Part of him wondered if it would matter, should Melisandre turn on him. He'd seen enough of her abilities to know at least some of her apparent power was genuine. With a worried look, Jaime obeyed his orders.

"You need not fear me, Matthew." Melisandre smiled. "I can see great potential within you, and much danger. Even Azor Ahai needed allies."

"You told me you would set this realm to rights, yet I see little difference in the city," Stannis was much less friendly. "If you're like Joffrey, I will not hesitate to kill you."

"I've been a little busy fighting a major war, if you haven't noticed." Matthew snapped. "Littlefinger's dead, although I should have killed Varys as well. Even as King, I can't fix everything, however much I want to. That much I learned when I first arrived."

"Nothing will change so long as Tywin Lannister remains. The rot started with him."

"I know you don't care for him, but all of us need to come together, else we're all screwed. I'm only one man and my abilities are limited."

"How can I be sure Joffrey has not regained control?" Stannis snapped.

"Because if I was Joffrey, I would have had you and all your followers killed when you arrived. Boy's a lunatic with no restraint. Now we can circle around each other and make threats, but that thought wearies me."

"I would know if the boy reigned once more," Melisandre promised.

"With Sansa on the point of death, it's all the more crucial we work together. Many question why you spit on my offer, yet agree to assist me anyway."

"I care nothing for their opinion." Stannis shrugged. "And I would rather have not bothered to work with you even if you are supposedly from another world."

"Right now, we've got more imminent concerns. Robb will put both our heads on the chopping block, or worse. Sansa's unlikely to survive and we're not likely to persuade him I wasn't responsible."

"Our great enemy wants us weakened before the great conflict." Melisandre commented.

"Yes, and I'm hoping to end that threat before more lives are lost, but I see only one way to do it. More specifically, your abilities, Melisandre."

"Beware; the Lord of Light always extracts a price for such an act. My blessings are not to be used for trivial reasons."

"I hardly consider saving thousands of lives a trivial reason. We don't have long to prepare." Robb was well-protected, but Matthew expected one of Melisandre's shadow babies wasn't something he could counter.

"And I am forced to submit to you," Stannis grumbled. "Lady Melisandre insists on this path and many of my men follow her no less than me."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, Matthew. Being here may not have been your wish, but there is much you can do to change things for the better."

"Stop calling me that." Matthew whispered. He didn't need his secret getting out to everyone else. "Have the Stormlords agreed to assist?"

"Now that we are on the same side, many have bent the knee, but few are willing to get involved. I am little loved and though I am at least the rightful ruler of the Stormlands, they refuse to follow their oaths. When I return to Storm's End, it is something I swear I will not forget."

"I get the impression many are simply going to sit back and wait to see who wins the coming battle," Matthew admitted. "And I don't intend to be on the losing side."

XXXXXXXXXX

_They're all going to die for this. _Daenerys stared at the crucified child. The young girl was blonde, looking almost like a younger version of herself. Astapor was free, Yunkai's slaves had been liberated, and now it was time to finish the work of Slaver's Bay forever.

"Khalessi, we can have the ones ahead of us taken down," Jorah suggested. "You do not need to look at them."

"Strong Belwas will make Meereen's leader pay for this," Belwas promised, his many scars visible in the bright sun.

"I'll do it with my own hand." Drogon was big enough to ride now, although not for extended periods of time. Viserion and Rheagal were not quite there yet, but in another couple of months, Daenerys knew she could choose any of her three dragons.

"Your Grace, with respect, that may not be a wise decision," Bennero warned. "One of your dragons is big enough to ride, yes, but he is still not of fighting size, certainly not against a prepared enemy."

"My dragons helped seize Astapor when they were smaller," Daenerys challenged.

"They did, but only against an unsuspecting enemy," Bennero conceded. "Dragons are powerful, not invincible, Your Grace. Even the great Meraxes fell to a scorpion bolt in Dorne."

_If I look back, I am lost. _Rheagal jumped up and tore down the girl's corpse, taking several bits out of it. "Rheagal!" Daenerys rebuked, trying to pull him off. Rheagal snarled in response, not wishing to be interrupted from his meal. Viserion joined the fray, taking two bits out of a now very mutilated body. Both her dragons went to their full heights and roared, trying to intimidate the other into backing down.

Daenerys moved away. There was little she could do should her children choose to fight each other. Much as she loathed admitting it, her advisors were right. Meereen wasn't going to be as easy a target. "Khalessi, they are trying to bait you into making a mistake," Jorah declared. "They know you have a kind heart, something they lack. Don't let them use it against you."

"I won't. . . but this is a crime I will not forget, or forgive," Daenerys swore. Meereen was still a few days' away and with little to subsist on. They had destroyed their own crops, preventing them from falling into Daenerys' hands. Many slaves would starve, but that doubtless bothered them not at all.

"A gift for you, Khalessi," Daario handed her several flowers. Jorah appeared ready to cut his head off where he stood.

"I believe I told you what would happen if you continued such gestures," Daenerys scowled.

"You said you'd have my head." Daario grinned. Daenerys' heart fluttered in spite of herself. "You would execute me over a mere gift?"

"Thank you. . . but you're going to the back of the line. . . on foot," Daenerys tested to see his response.

"As you command. . . my sword is yours, Khalessi. . . both swords." Daario smirked and obeyed her orders.

"Khalessi, he is far too free around you." Jorah took his hand off his sword.

"And trust no one but you, is that it?" Daenerys sighed. "You have served me well, I consider you a true friend, but I do not want you. Is that understood?" Jorah expressed a disappointed sigh and nodded.

"Khalessi, it will still be days before we get to Meereen." Missandei informed. Unlike the others in Daenerys' party, she showed no response to the crucified children. Daenerys had learned to read people, a necessity for avoiding the wrath of her older brother. Such a sight provoked little reaction from the young woman. "Do I have permission to speak?"

"Of course," Daenerys smiled. The woman never spoke without being spoken to.

"This may take time to force the city's surrender," Missandei cautioned. "In the meantime, they have left little to subsist on and former slaves will go hungry."

"I will do everything in my power to see they are well-treated," Daenerys promised, although both knew it was likely to do only so much good. A protracted siege was more likely to be in Meereen's favor than hers.

_Use your dragons and burn them, _Death from above wasn't something Meereen was likely to have any way to counter. Drogon was small, but with his brothers, they could lay waste to the city's defenses. Her advisors considered her too valuable to put at risk, though. _I'd save thousands of lives on both sides. _

For the moment, Daenerys opted to listen to them, provided they had a way to end the siege quickly. Food supplies would only last a few weeks, as Astapor's council she appointed had been butchered and slavery resumed. Former slaves turned into masters and the cycle continued. Yunkai looked as if the same thing would happen to them.

Daenerys' bloodriders surrounded her once their travel resumed. She steeled herself for the next crucified children, telling each one that their fates would be avenged. Even after what she had seen, such cruelty was beyond her capacity to understand.

"That's because you have a good heart," Jorah assured once she spoke those words out loud. "Too kind for a world like this."

"Then we need to make a new world." Daenerys declared. Once Meereen was taken, she intended to march back to Yunkai and Astapor, and force them to end slavery. Such a plague on humanity deserved to be eradicated.

"Your brother spoke the same way. If Rheagar had been King, then perhaps. . . but honor is a luxury you will seldom be able to afford, Khalessi."

"I'll do whatever I need to do to get back what was stolen from me." The usurper was dead, as was Stark, but another one would need to be removed. Daenerys barely remembered his name, though it didn't matter. Another pretender unworthy of the throne.

"Slavery has existed for thousands of years, Your Grace," Bennero reminded. "Slavery of the mind can be difficult to overcome even after freedom. Many do not question the system itself but only prefer to be masters instead of slaves."

"I have already freed eighty thousand, all of whom will never be slaves again." Daenerys announced. "Nor will I allow any of them to enslave others."

"Some use the Lord of Light as justification for this system, but he demands that each of his children be free. That is why he has chosen you, Your Grace." Jorah scowled, but tolerated the priest, for he made no sexual advances toward Daenerys. "Azor Azai freed many slaves throughout his lifetime."

"Then what would recommend I do?"

"There is no greater power in the world than the need for freedom. Against that power, tyrants, governments, and armies cannot stand. The Meereenese will learn this lesson, as will the rest of Slaver's Bay. Even if it takes a thousand years, we will be free." He took Daenerys' hand in her own. "They are counting on you, your people."

"I know."

"You cannot fix the entire world, Khalessi." Jorah warned. "Astapor and Yunkai have already been liberated and Meereen's defenses are much stronger. You still have the Seven Kingdoms to retake. With little to subsist on, how do you propose to win?"

"I'll find a way." Daenerys refused to hear any more of it. Only a quarter of her host were soldiers. Daenerys had yet to see the walls of Meereen, but refused to throw away those who followed her. _Perhaps tomorrow I can scout out the area on Drogon. Surely they cannot object to something so simple. _Even if they did, she would ignore them. The Blood of the Dragon did not cower.

"You don't need to be so frightened around me," Daenerys told Missandel in their camp that night. "You are not my slave, nor are you bound to me. You can live whenever you wish."

"Thank you, Khalessi," Missandei relaxed a little but only a little. "Permission. . . Khalessi, Meereen is much stronger than either Astapor or Yunkai. Breaking through its walls will not be an easy task."

"The Unsullied are the greatest soldiers in the known world," Daenerys refuted. Grey Worm stood at the entrance to her tent, silent as always. "How many slaves exist within the walls of Meereen?"

"At least one hundred thousand, Khalessi, mostly Lhazareen."

"Then we have a hundred thousand reasons to take the city." Daenerys refused to be the kind of ruler who turned her backs to suffering, unlike so many others. Perhaps she could encourage uprising among the slaves, although without weapons, it would do them little good.

She told herself to sleep, but it would not come. The eyes of the crucified children could be seen even in the dark, mocking her. Daenerys promised many times to avenge them, yet they refused to leave her mind. Were her dragons of sufficient size, Daenerys would have burned all the masters alive for such a crime.

All three were kept well away from the main host, for they only permitted Daenerys to approach them. _I'll soon be able to ride any of them. _It was a trait none of her ancestors had ever been able to claim.

Jorah stared at her with worried eyes. Daenerys knew he wished for her to turn back and allow half her host to die. That she would not allow, not when their liberation was so close at hand.

A knife flung out in the tent. Jorah moved in front of her, the knife going into his throat. Gasping, his hand went to the wound, sword unsheathed. Daenerys' muscles froze, the man ready to hack her to pieces.

Grey Worm intervened, their weapons clashing too fast for Daenerys to keep track of. She stood in place, unsure of what to do. The assassin had trapped her and tearing herself out of the tent would take too long. Nor could she leave Jorah to die. "Stay with me," Daenerys held his hand, willing him to return to his feet.

Her mind tuned out the sounds of battle. "Run, Daenerys Stormborn!" Grey Worm strained to utter, unable to divert his eyes even for a moment.

"G. . ." Jorah could say nothing more. With the last of his strength, he stood up, the fingers on his left hand covered in blood. Her would-be assassin focused on Grey Worm. "I. . ." He collapsed to the ground again.

Daenerys picked up his sword, nearly dropping the unfamiliar weight. _A dragon does not hide. _Grey Worm and her attacker dueled through the tent, its small confines constraining both of them. Grey Worm deflected a thrust with his spear, the assassin locking their blades in place. He reached into his sheath and sent a dagger into Grey Worm's eye.

Or would have had Daenerys not thrust the sword into his back. The assassin gave a small gasp of surprise, Daenerys pushing the sword all the way out of his chest. Grey Worm pulled the spear out of his hands, tripping. "You are safe, Khalessi," He had numerous cuts on his arms and legs, but that didn't seem to bother him at all.

Her enemy moaned, a hand reaching out to steady himself. "Who sent you?" Daenerys demanded, placing the sword against his throat. Meereen's masters would suffer dearly for this.

"J. . . King Joffrey. . ." The assassin moaned. His mouth moved, though Daenerys could hear nothing more. After sticking his spear into his throat, Grey Worm marched out to inform his fellows what had happened.

Daenerys returned to Jorah, the man's eyes barely open. "Thank you for protecting me," Daenerys' eyes glinted with tears. If not for her protector, she would have died that night. "You're not going to die tonight, Ser Jorah; I forbid it!"

"Khalessi. . ." Daenerys placed his head into her lap, screaming for assistance. She held his hand, the logical part of her mind knowing there was nothing to be done. Daenerys' tears fell on Jorah's body. "I. . ." She felt his grip loosen, Jorah's hand falling onto the dirt.

Daenerys kept her hold on Jorah's body, refusing to let him go. _Joffrey. . . the usurper's son! _The man who stole her rightful throne, and now murdered her dearest friend. "I promise you, Jorah, he will pay for this!" Daenerys screamed to Jorah's corpse. "I will crucify him! I will flay him alive! He will learn what it means to wake the dragon!"

She reluctantly disentangled herself from Jorah and returned to her feet. Daenerys still had a city to take, slaves to liberate. . . but when the time came, Joffrey the usurper would feel her wrath.

XXXXXXXXXX

Wonder how Daenerys would react if, after this, she discovered Jorah had been selling her out this entire time. Perhaps we'll find out in the future. I expect the clash between Robb and Matthew will be around Chapter 24-25. There's still a little I have to set up first.


	22. Chapter 22

"Why do you suggest I walk out into the field against an enemy who has yet to lose a battle?" Matthew asked of Stannis. "Surely it would be a greater advantage to fight behind city walls, and the news of Lady Sansa's supposed death means he isn't in top condition.

"You can't feed half a million people," Stannis scoffed. "I know this city far better than you. The Tyrells will make no attempt to help you, and Stark will seize control over both sides of the river. How many bannermen from the Stormlands have arrived?"

"Not many," Matthew conceded. They were waiting to see who the winner would be, no doubt.

"So do not count on food from them, or from your Braavosi allies," Stannis advised. "With only your fleet to supply you, the city will starve in weeks. Renly attacked from the South, which would have left some of your sources intact, but Stark moves from the North."

"I already know not to trust anyone," Matthew raised an eyebrow. "And that still includes you. All my other advisors tell me to prepare for a siege. What would you suggest instead?"

"Make your stand here," Stannis pointed at a small river ten leagues north of King's Landing.

"It barely looks like a river," Matthew squinted at the map. "River doesn't even have a name, which tells me it can't be very important. A narrow ford isn't a substitute for city walls."

"The river is narrow, but it is swift," Stannis informed. "Few who dare to swim in it walk out again. Smallfolk who reside near it have learned as much. Destroy the bridges, and you can attack Stark with impunity."

"Interesting strategy, but this carries just as many risks," Matthew rubbed his chin. "Do you know the width of it, by any chance?" Considering Stannis' memory, he expected he would.

"Fifty to one hundred meters at most points," Stannis pointed to two locations. "The bridges are there, and with no other method of crossing, Stark will have to either advance into a torrent, or retreat. My brother would have lost at the Trident had Rheagar not been foolish enough to attempt crossing it."

"I still intend to make sure we have a place to retreat to," Matthew had never heard of the river, but considering the size of Westeros, there were certainly hundreds of them, maybe thousands, throughout the continent. "And I intend to win the Tyrells over, make sure I can tip the balance." Matthew worried about their reported mobilization. They'd explain it by bringing troops to assist him, but he doubted Highgarden would be so forgiving.

Stannis snorted. "They will do nothing for you, even with two children hostage. The Tyrells appear kind on the surface, but they are no less duplicitous than Lannisters. If you are losing, expect them to put a knife in your back."

"Ever consider your view is tainted by your own personal dislike of Mace Tyrell?" Matthew questioned.

"Robert ignored me as well," Stannis ground his teeth. "I warned him the Tyrells should be severely punished for fighting alongside the Mad King, but he dismissed me. He'd assumed his gift for turning enemies into friends would work on them as well, and settled for them paying for the damage they caused. I recommend he hold Mace Tyrell as a hostage, and he refused. In return for that kindness, they supported my brother Renly in his attempt to usurp the throne."

"I'm aware of the story," Matthew intervened to halt the coming rant. "I get the point. I've got to win or lose based on what I currently have. He hasn't sent many of his men north to fight the wildlings, so that hope is shot."

"**Stop trying to be merciful, you fool!" **Joffrey screamed at him. **"Kill them all! Show them no mercy!" **Matthew scowled in response.

"Robb has yet to face a competent opponent," Stannis reminded. "Stafford Lannister was a fool, as is the Kingslayer. Do not give him command of anything significant."

"He's a member of the Kingsguard, so his duty is to me," Matthew remarked. _Where I can make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. _"I don't intend to charge brainlessly at my enemy. First, however, I want to make sure this river is as swift as you say, else I've no intention on making my stand. Do you know anyone who resides in the area?"

"It's a day's ride away, and Stark will not arrive for at least a week," Stannis stated. "Send out scouts, have them report back to you."

"I'm still a bit concerned about locations he can cross that aren't on the map," Matthew muttered. "Maps aren't perfect and if I remember correctly, Robb won against Stafford by just that sort of tactic."

"The alternative is to have the city rise against you. Vipers in King's Landing will turn as well, if they think it'll save their own skin. Even Tywin's reputation may not matter if things get desperate enough."

Matthew still leaned toward retreating into King's Landing and would have done so if Robb was the only enemy he had to consider. The Tyrells complicated things, as did Dorne's procession marching toward the Capital. _My fleet could probably keep us fed for a few months, at least my soldiers. _Matthew knew some still questioned him, thought him weak because of his earlier actions.

Both strategies carried heavy risks, even if Stannis' information was accurate. A small part of Matthew wondered if Stannis was intending to lure him into a trap. He didn't entirely trust the man, for all his efforts to win him over.

If Robb wished to ride against him, he would be crushed. The Northerners might have been skilled fighters, but they were resource-poor, with internal divisions he could exploit. He didn't intend to show mercy unless there was an immediate surrender, which he doubted. _I'm not going to waste my time on negotiation. All of Westeros is going to watch for what I do next. _

XXXXXXXXXX

"We are long overdue for a discussion, Cersei." Tyrion glared after making sure they were alone. He'd been tempted to have her guards slain and force the issue, but that wasn't necessary. Not yet, at least.

"I have nothing I want to say to you, dwarf," Cersei sneered but her eyes darted around the room. She was afraid. _As she should be. _"Get out!"

"I'm afraid that's not an option, sister." Tyrion approached her. "You see, a few days ago, I found Shae dead in her room. Cut open, as a matter of fact. Being that you threatened to kill her if I didn't obey you, you can imagine who's at the top of my suspect list."

"You always did spend too much time with whores," Cersei dismissed. "No wonder Father thinks so little of you."

"I would recommend you not call Shae a whore if you want any hope of getting out of this discussion intact," Tyrion warned. "The only reason I've held back as long as I have is that, for reasons I've never understood, Jaime loves you. Now I ask you again: convince me you weren't the one to kill her."

"Oh, I'm sure father will be delighted to hear this: threatening your family over a whore!" Cersei laughed but it did not reach her eyes.

"Running to father whenever you encounter trouble?" Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "You always were a coward, Cersei. Now I want an answer."

"I didn't touch your whore!" Cersei spat. "Why would I sacrifice a hold on you because you were weak enough to care about her? Who was the whore you first fell in love with. . . what was her name? Tysha, I think."

"If you want any hope of leaving this room intact, you will not mention her name again," Tyrion spoke with cold fury. Cersei swung her hand to slap him. Tyrion grabbed it in mid-air and twisted, throwing her onto the ground. "Is that understood, Cersei?"

"You're going to pay for this!" Cersei snarled. "Gu. . ." Tyrion placed a hand over her mouth.

"My cutthroats are quite capable of killing yours," Tyrion scoffed. "Is that understood? If it is, nod." Eyes glaring daggers, Cersei did so. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I didn't kill your whore!" Cersei snapped, but Tyrion observed the undercurrent of fear.

"I'm done playing games, sister," Tyrion sneered. "You always did think yourself more clever than you actually are. From now on, you're going to obey my orders, the orders of a brother you despise." Tyrion couldn't believe he once tried to get his older sister to love him. She'd followed in her father's footsteps and treated him no less poorly.

"If you think you can threaten the Queen. . ." Cersei spat.

"Oh, but I can," Tyrion laughed. After so many years of enduring her torment, he delighted in the reversal. "I've known for a long time about you and Jaime, long before Stannis tried to inform the realm. . . though I do believe he has retracted it for now. You haven't been as discreet as you think, Cersei. I've had people watching you, and on at least two occasions, you've slept with our dear brother. I wonder how Father would take the blow to our family legacy."

"You'd never be so foolish," Cersei got to her feet and backed away. She cursed and searched her cabinets.

"I had your dagger removed days ago. You really should pay more attention to your belongings." Tyrion folded his hands behind his back. "And what would our dear Jaime say if you killed me?"

"He'll kill you once he finds out you intend to spread lies!" Cersei kept herself as far away from Tyrion as possible.

"Oh, Cersei; there's no need for falsehoods between us now." Tyrion shook his head. "You couldn't hide the truth from me. I have several informants who will testify to its truthfulness should you ever defy me again." A lie; they hadn't been necessary. _Let her lash out at whoever she thinks is responsible, lose the few allies she still has. _Cersei's paranoia was all too easy to spark.

"You won't find me obedient for long, dwarf." Cersei threatened. Tyrion punched her in the stomach, making her double over. He'd fantasized about doing that for a long time, but it couldn't compare to the real thing.

"And you're never going to call me that again," Tyrion smirked. "If I hear a single word of plots against me, Father will find out his entire legacy is a lie. You know, I'm tempted to do it anyway, just to see his reaction." If not for Jaime, Tyrion would have done so. Much as he loathed Cersei, Jaime still mattered to him.

"Get out! Now!" Cersei snarled, all fight leaving her.

"I'm glad we have an understanding," Tyrion gave a sarcastic wave. _I wonder what he'd say if he discovered his grandson's been taken over by some otherworldly. . . person, I think. _There were times he had trouble believing it himself, so he decided to use a more potent threat. He had no guarantee Tywin wouldn't dismiss him, but the prospect would be enough to keep her in line.

At one time, he would never have dared put Tommen and Myrcella in danger. Now, though, Tyrion couldn't bring himself to care. Cersei wouldn't put her children at risk, however much she might want revenge in the future. His sister was broken for the moment. He sighed as he walked through the halls of the Red Keep alongside Bronn. Tyrion knew the possibility he was endangering his friendship with Jaime.

_Play nice, sister. For all our sakes._

XXXXXXXXXX

"Is there any change?" Matthew bit his lip at the sight of Sansa. Her stab wounds had been cleaned, but they still practically glowed red. He checked her pulse to check if she was still alive.

"She has begun to stir a little," Pycelle answered. "One of the stab wounds missed her heart by an inch." He kneeled down with a groan and placed maggots on the two ugliest wounds. Matthew winced, despite knowing they might be the only thing that kept her alive.

"Yeah, well, a lot's going to depend on whether she pulls through," Matthew sighed. Even if she did, he doubted it would be in time to prevent a massacre. Robb Stark wasn't the kind of enemy he wanted to face in the field, but life didn't give a damn what he wanted.

_And Varys knew this; wants to weaken us for his precious Aegon. _In the process, he was likely to damn them all. At least most of the corridors had been found, hindering Varys' ability to spy on them in the future. Sixteen of his spies had been eliminated. _Eliminated; right. _None of them had been older than twelve, yet they'd been killed all the same. Or so Matthew assumed. Tywin had taken charge, likely knowing that he might not have to stomach to do it himself. _And he's probably right. _

He'd gone back and forth, trying to decide which approach to face Robb would be best. Already Tyrell shipments of food had slowed, just as Stannis predicted. They hadn't stopped entirely, for three members of their family were still hostage, but slowdowns could be explained away. Prices of food had gone up, although not nearly to the point they had before the Battle of the Blackwater.

"Your Grace, may I speak freely?" Pycelle mumbled.

"I expect nothing less," Matthew snapped.

"Well, uh. . . the poor girl's chances are. . . that is to say. . ." Pycelle turned away, fearing his wrath.

"As I said, do everything in your power to save her," Matthew ordered a second time. "I know the odds, just as you do." Part of him wondered why he bothered. Saving her would do nothing to stop Robb, and once it was over, Sansa would want revenge.

_I could order him to give Sansa a little poison, have her die painlessly. No one expects her to live, anyway. _Sansa was more dangerous than most gave her credit for and when her family was dead, she'd want revenge. Baelish was no longer an issue, but Matthew doubted her infatuation would remain after the battle. Easier to deal with the problem now. _Every time I've shown mercy, it's blown up in my face. _

Matthew shook his head, hoping it wouldn't be another disaster for him. Having Sansa either as an ally or hostage would prove useful for future conflicts. Should things change. . . people died all the time in King's Landing. He couldn't be ruled by sentiment when he was King of the Seven Kingdoms.

_We'll meet Robb at the river, cut him to pieces if he's foolish enough to try and cross it. Even if he doesn't, he won't be able to threaten the Capital. _Matthew had almost sixty cannons now, although there were no longer enough resources to produce them, not being cut off from the Westerlands. Braavos was playing him, yes, but their partnership was mutually beneficial for the time being.

His men were coming along nicely. Out of the nearly 4,000 he started with, 3,500 troops remained. A few had died of disease or injury, some had quit, and two had been executed for murder. Matthew turned his attention to his crossbowmen, who could not fire bolts four times a minute. He still did not possess the musketmen he wanted, nor would he for some time, but his position grew stronger every day. _Of course, not many of them have experience in real combat. _Those who did were responsible for instructing the others.

Matthew marched down the Red Keep, Jaime smiling at him. He wondered if it was to make him nervous or just to hide his true feelings. "Uncle, get your men ready. We meet Robb at the river, teach him not to defy the Iron Throne."

"Just what I wanted to hear, Your Grace," Jaime laughed. "Wonder how Stark will react to that."

"With luck, he'll never get anywhere near us," Matthew responded. "But I've learned better than to count on luck alone. Robb might be on a winning streak so far, but he hasn't met me yet."

"You mean. . . to go out there yourself?" Jaime bit his lip.

"I can hardly ask my men to go where I refuse to," Matthew reminded. _Right, I'm technically his son. Course, I don't remember him showing any parental instincts. _"Is that river as swift as I've been told?"

"It depends on the year, Your Grace," Barristan responded. "But even in dry years, it is an excellent defensive position."

"Well, we don't have a lot of time," Matthew announced, clapping his hands. "It's the greatest obstacle we have to hinder Robb and I don't intend to waste the opportunity."

"If you intend to use this strategy, I would suggest leaving immediately," Barristan commented. "No disrespect, Your Grace, but Robb Stark has won most of his battles so far. I personally recommend using King's Landing to its best advantage."

"If we had a proper alliance, I would agree with you, but right now, we're on our own," Matthew mused. However much he disliked it, he would have to kiss up to the Tyrells, perhaps even allow Margaery to marry him. It could send the wrong message, but Highgarden was still too powerful to ignore. There was no way to negotiate except from weakness, and with no guarantee he wouldn't be stabbed in the back again. "And Stark hasn't met me yet."

Matthew marched into the armory and ordered: "Get all the cannons ready. I'm going to give Stark the welcome he's been asking for!" His subordinates rushed to carry out his orders.

He prepared all his cannons, with those operating them comprising most of his trained personnel. Matthew heard nothing from those he'd sent to the Westerlands, whether they'd begun to produce his blueprints or if they'd been killed on the way. Bandits, enemy troops, disease. . . the dangers were endless.

"You two are coming with me," Matthew pointed to Stannis and Melisandre. "This was your idea in the first place and I require your assistance, given that no plan survives first contact with the enemy." _It also ties your fate to mine. _Both were still dangerous, but Stark was a mutual enemy, at least for now.

"I expected nothing less." Stannis nodded. "You will not win this battle without my assistance." He ground his teeth. "Is Tywin Lannister joining you as well?"

"No, he's assigned Addam Marbrand in his place," Matthew rolled his eyes. He had the strong suspicion Tywin intended to undo his actions. He wasn't a man who would risk his life in battle unless there was no other choice. Melisandre could see Robb through the flames, or so Matthew hoped. If nothing else, bringing them along allowed him to keep an eye on the pair. "You can leave Davos behind. No need to risk his life, as we're not fighting a sea battle."

The remainder of the day was spent preparing as much food as possible. His trip was only a couple days, but Matthew knew the battle could last weeks. He couldn't count on Robb making foolish mistakes, even in his current state. "Do you mean to. . . use the wildfire, Your Grace?" Balon worried.

"No, the idiots would probably end up burning themselves alive," Matthew decided with some reluctance. It had the potential for a devastating psychological effect, but trebuchets weren't well suited for field battle. "Keep it in reserve if this plan fails." He now possessed more than 6,000 pots of wildfire, enough to burn an entire army. _It'll come in handy if we have to make a retreat, but not so much for a field battle. _

In total, thirty thousand men were assembled, nearly everything that the Westerlands still had. Only the Gold Cloaks and a handful of Tywin's bannermen were left behind. With no natural obstacles, if his retreat became a rout, there would be nowhere to hide. _If I lose this battle, we're all finished. But if I win. . . my rule is secure. I'm not about to engage in pointless cruelty, nor will I let Cersei destroy all my hard work. _

**"Bring the Imp along with you; kill him and make it look like Stark did it!" **Joffrey suggested. He'd given up regaining control of his body and resorted to giving vicious advice instead.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What can I do for you, nephew?" Tyrion disliked the smirk on the boy's face.

"It just occurred to me; I'm going to need your help if I want to win this battle," Matthew informed him. "As you've served me well in the Battle of the Blackwater, I intend to have you at my side when Robb's threat is ended once and for all."

"You flatter me, Your Grace, but there are still duties as Master of Coin I need to attend to," Tyrion refused to let Cersei undo all his hard work. He'd had enough of combat to last him a lifetime.

"I'm afraid this is an order, Tyrion," Matthew crossed his arms. "A lot's riding on the outcome of this battle and I intend to use every advantage I can. Therefore, you're coming with me. Food and wine have already been prepared for you, as has your carriage."

_What are you up to? _Tyrion doubted this was for the use of his mind, however clever he might have been. No, the man inhabiting Joffrey's body was up to something; he was positive of it. _Probably hoping I end up dead on the battlefield. _The boy no longer trusted him and probably never would again, after his actions.

But there was no refusing a direct order from the King. "You truly must value my counsel if you're entrusting this to me," Tyrion quipped to hide how worried he was. Bronn couldn't be relied on, as the man was quite capable of outbidding him.

"I do; I wouldn't have won the Blackwater battle without you." Matthew smiled. Tyrion told himself not to shrink away. He couldn't sneak away, but he wasn't about to passively die the way he hoped. No, he'd come too far to be killed so easily.

XXXXXXXXXX

Arya creeped around the catacombs, looking upon her ancestors. Since arriving at Winterfell, there had been little effort to enforce her going to her classes, especially needlework. She shuddered at the very idea. It was something she felt hopeless at, and the other girls stared at her with either pity or derision. Arya wasn't sure which was worse.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords, _Arya swung Needle around. She'd killed a boy who tried to turn her in to the Queen, and two others when they were assaulted by bandits. Little frightened her after such experiences, which Maester Lewin didn't care to understand.

Until she encountered an ugly man in pink garb. Arya shuddered at the smile he'd flashed her when they met. "He's Roose Bolton's bastard," Lewin had informed her. "He's been tasked with assisting our fight against the wildlings."

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark," Ramsey had bowed, but there was something about him Arya didn't like. If she'd had her way, he would have been beheaded. . . along with that companion of his who smelled from halfway across the courtyard. Reek. The man wore perfume, but stunk regardless. He'd stared at Ramsey, ready to do whatever he asked, whatever it was.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords, _Arya wished her brother Jon was there. He'd listen to her warnings. Bran and Lewin had refused to, but Arya was certain there was something up. She had no evidence, only a feeling. She'd tried to keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn't going to try anything. Most of the Stark bannermen had been sent to reinforce the Wall under siege, with Ramsey's men behind.

Arya stared at her ancestors, the old Kings of Winter back when the North was an independent Kingdom. She stood proud, confident that Robb would be able to live up to their accomplish. He'd defeat King Joffrey, and come home to Winterfell, where he belonged.

She no longer needed torches to find her way around. Arya crouched down, looking behind her. No one knew where she was, which was just how she preferred it. _They won't listen to me just because I'm a girl! _Arya stopped in front of Lyanna's grave. She rubbed her chin and wondered how her late Aunt would have responded to such treatment. Father had always told her Lyanna resembled her in many ways.

Arya looked up at the statue and snarled. Lyanna's life had been cut short by Rheagar, who had kidnapped and raped the woman. Arya wondered how to live up to her Aunt, what to do when facing what she considered imminent danger. She bit her lip, tempted to literally smack some sense into her brother.

She pressed her hand on the statue, feeling herself sink in. Arya withdrew her hand, heart racing. She stared down to see a stone on the ground disappear, revealing a wooden box. _What. . . how. . . _Arya kneeled down to check it out, ignoring the voice that told her it was an unwise idea.

"I. . . I don't understand," Arya pulled the box out of its hiding place. Why would it be placed here, hidden for what she assumed were years? The box was covered in dust, the wood partially rotted. She lifted it into her arms, something moving from side to side within it.

Arya grunted, adjusting to the box's weight. Whatever it was, it had to be important, or it wouldn't have been hidden for so long. She kept her eyes on the torches, nearly dancing with eagerness. It had to be something good, perhaps the details about her aunt that Ned Stark always refused to share, however many times Arya had asked.

It would be difficult to hide, but so long as no one saw what was inside, it wouldn't matter. Arya marched up the catacombs, keeping her steps quiet so no one would hear. She breathed hard going up the steps, tightening her grip on the box. Arya grumbled and balanced it between her arms, exiting the catacombs.

Where Ramsey Bolton waited for her. "Good to see you again, Lady Stark," Ramsey grinned, Reek by his side. He ran his eyes up and down her body, licking his lips.

"Excuse me; I've got something to do," Arya stumbled with the box in her hand, not wanting to waste time on politeness. She'd never cared much for courtesies.

"Lady Stark, I was hoping we'd have some time to talk," Ramsey smiled. "After all, my father's sent me all this way to assist our Liege Lords."

"I have nothing to say to you," Arya dropped the box and pulled out Needle. There was a dark flash in Ramsey's eyes. Reek stepped forward, but Ramsey held him back.

"Lady Stark, what have I done to offend you so?" Ramsey was all but laughing. His stare made Arya shudder. "We've come to help you. I thought the Starks would treat their guests with more courtesy." His lower lip turned into a smirk. Arya could not bring herself to make eye contact with him. She debated killing him where he stood, guest-right or not.

"Is there some problem here?" Four of Winterfell's household guard arrived to intervene.

"I'm confused; what's going on?" Ramsey frowned. Arya wasn't fooled for a moment.

"He's threatening me!" Arya accused. He hadn't said anything explicit, but Arya knew. Ramsey and Reek had to be dealt with. They frightened her far more than the wildlings did. Ramsey snarled, his body moving to a combat position. Reek whispered in his ear, his expression turning into a smile.

"I was merely concerned because nobody's seen any sign of her," Ramsey lay on the charm.

"Lord Snow, it would be best if you and your. . . friend went somewhere else," One of the guards warned, hand on his sword.

"Bolton. My name is Bolton," Ramsey's face turned purple.

"Lord Bolton," the guard corrected. All four surrounded her, sensing the same danger she did. Arya picked the wooden box back up, confident Ramsey wouldn't try anything so openly.

Arya carried the wooden box into her room, unmolested by anyone else in the castle. She made a mental promise to thank the household guard who intervened on her behalf. Arya locked the door behind her, face breaking out into a massive grin. She'd found something that hadn't been noticed for years. _I wonder what it is! _Perhaps something that would tell her more about Lyanna, whom her father rarely spoke out.

The box opened with a single strong pull, dust and cobwebs making her cough. Arya waved her hands to clear the air, eyes alight with anticipation. She could just make out something red within the box.

A dragon egg.

XXXXXXXXXX

I was originally going to do something with Daenerys in this chapter, but right now, her story is pretty similar to that of canon, so I deleted and reworked much of this. Next chapter is the confrontation between Robb and Matthew. Not sure yet whether it'll encompass one or two installments.

So is Matthew truly trying to kill Tyrion or does he honestly want his help? Well, you'll find out in the next chapter.


	23. Duel of the Kings

I know both my chapters have been late, but between dealing with personal issues, work, and my original projects, I haven't had much time to work on it. Hopefully the length will at least partially make up for it.

XXXXX

"Least we managed to beat him here," Matthew stared at the river. It was narrow, even narrower than Stannis had described, but it would be sufficient to hold Robb back. _I don't fancy having to cross that. _

"Your Grace, it is unwise to make yourself a prominent target," Jaime declared. "Stark's forces are estimated to be here in a couple of hours and even if they cannot cross, their archers can still rain arrows down upon us."

"Just making a few final preparations." Matthew galloped next to the river, surveying his surroundings. His present location was free of trees, at least ones large enough to be used as a bridge. His vision was clear. "Are the bridges destroyed?"

"They are, Your Grace," Jaime responded.

"Keep in mind no plan survives first contact with the enemy, but I think we're in a good position here." Matthew's men waited behind him. Tywin wanted to use those Matthew had trained to soak up the enemy arrows, but he had refused. Matthew didn't intend to let his supposed Grandfather weaken him.

His men were at least one hundred meters away from the river, spread out across several kilometers. So long as the river was an obstacle, Matthew knew he had little to fear from Robb. Deciding he'd already gotten the information he needed, he turned his horse and hurried to rejoin the rest of his men.

_What I wouldn't give for a good pair of binoculars. . . _One of many modern conveniences Matthew missed. His cannons would allow him to hit the enemy at a range they couldn't respond, or so he hoped. Robb in canon, however, never lost a fight, and was an enemy who couldn't be beaten in conventional warfare.

"Have your scouts reported anything new?" Matthew inquired of Tywin. He'd insisted the man come along, both for his experience and to keep an extra eye on Tyrion.

"Stark is marching down the path we expected," Tywin traced his finger along a map. "I have scouts ten leagues in both directions and the bridges are destroyed. The boy's victories have made him overconfident."

XXXXX

Robb looked out at the river, Grey Wind by his side. Had he been so inclined, he could have ridden his direwolf into battle, as some tales about him claimed. _Joffrey beat us here, _Robb squinted, just making out the Lannister infantry.

"That river's no match for hardened Northmen!" The Greatjon bragged. "Give me 2,000 men and I'll give us control of the riverbank!"

"At the proper time," Robb kept his tone diplomatic. His scouts had already reported the river was swift, quick enough to where any direct attempt to cross would led to his death. _I was hoping to arrive first, but it means I'll need to come up with a new plan. _Robb was troubled at the rumors of the new weapon. Many of his men dismissed their capabilities, but he wasn't so sure.

"Do you truly intend to cross that river?" Catelyn worried. "That's exactly what Joffrey wants you to do."

"It's what he expects me to do," Robb admitted. He had a slight numerical advantage and the Knights of the Vale provided him with superior horsemen, but none of that would matter if he didn't find a way across that river. "Joffrey's a fool, but Tywin isn't. He will have destroyed any nearby bridges."

"Your Grace, perhaps we can launch a probing attack," Yohn Royce suggested. "Make him think we're going to take the bait, find out how formidable his defenses truly are."

"Some of his troops are green, but there are also veterans of the Blackwater," Robb considered, rubbing his chin. Defeating Joffrey would require flexibility and, most of all, patience. His enemy wanted to tempt him into making a crucial mistake. "No, our priority is finding a way to cross the river before we engage him." Once the river was no longer a barrier, Joffrey would be finished. Their superior numbers and discipline would carry the day.

_There's still that problem to overcome, however. _Robb saw no obvious place to ford and any attempt he made to find one would be countered by Joffrey and Tywin. Lannister bannermen were encamped three hundred meters away from the river, confident Robb would not make any attempt to attack.

"This is going to require patience," Robb announced. "Fortunately, time is on our side."

"Your Grace, if we do not act, the smallfolk will consider us weak and rebel," Bolton cautioned. "Perhaps we should have burned everything when he had the opportunity."

"That would hurt us more than Joffrey," Robb refused. The two sides had stared at each other for more than an hour, both aware a direct crossing would lead to disaster.

"If it appears we are attempting to cross the river, their formation will have to change," Royce added. "None of them can afford to allow us to get a foothold on the riverbank. This will force the Lannisters to get close, and our arrows can travel far enough to hit them, as can our scorpions." Robb possessed only sixty scorpions, fewer than he'd hoped for. Their bolts would go through three men at once, but unlike larger ballista, too small for dragons.

Considerable risk, but with a possible reward. "Commence, but retreat at the sign of any complications." Robb decided. "Lord Royce, I will give you the honor of command." Greatjon frowned, but Robb considered the man far too impulsive for a delicate task.

"Stark must be more irrational than I thought if he's willing to cross a river like that," Matthew observed the troop formations. He could hardly believe Robb would do something so foolish, but thousands of Northmen and Vale Knights assembled toward the river.

XXXXX

"Your Grace, they've got boats!" one of his scouts declared.

"Well, if Robb's so willing to fight on my terms, who am I to refuse him?" Matthew doubted this was the only plan Robb possessed. Others worked on cutting down the trees in hopes of forging a crossing, but the trees in the immediate area were thin and quickly swept away by the current.

Matthew considered having his own men kill any stragglers who managed to get ashore. It would both hinder Robb and boost their own morale, as Stark had amassed quite a reputation for himself. Northern boats were far too few for a quick crossing. _There's got to be something more to this. Even in his current state, Stark knows better than to try a frontal assault. _

"I agree, and he knows we will have to oppose him," Tywin mentioned when Matthew brought it up.

"He's expecting me to break my formation," Matthew rubbed his chin. "I don't think he intends to cross the river, at least not yet. However, he knows I can't afford to allow him to manage a secure foothold. If I don't act, risking my own men, he'll have his crossing."

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," Matthew countermanded the order. "Let's show Stark what he's up against. Prepare the cannons." Tywin frowned with disapproval, but said nothing.

Forty of his cannons were moved to the front of the line, well beyond the range his enemies could inflict damage on. Matthew stuffed wax into his ears, not wishing to cause any further hearing damage on himself. The northerners and their allies had gathered on the banks, bunched close together. _Perfect. _

Matthew's horse retreated at the sound of cannons, as did most of the Lannister cavalry. None of them had yet gotten accustomed to such noises on the battlefields. Even with his visor up, Matthew could hardly make out what the effects on his enemy were.

On the other side of the river, those who had climbed into boats had little chance. Cannonballs barreled through them, tearing through plate armor like paper. Bunched up on the riverbanks, few had a chance to react. A few attempted to fire their bows in the direction of the barrage, but all fell far short of their target.

Still others froze, having never encountered such devices before. No initial effort was made to retreat, however. The scorpion operators refused to budge from their posts and coordinated their efforts in hopes of inflicting damage. Half a dozen crews fell to enemy fire, but the remainder stayed put.

A mere handful succeeded in hitting Matthew's cannons, inflicting two fatalities. Matthew shut his visor and retreated before any could be aimed specifically at him. He gave a small smile at the artilleryman, who chose to fight on rather than flee.

Across the river, enemy forces abandoned their boats and the men who resided in them. A few scorpion operators stayed to cover the retreat, but even they did not have the courage to stay for long. Northmen tripped over each other in their haste to get away. Swords and spears were thrown on the ground, plate and mail providing no protection against the barrage.

Matthew allowed himself a small smile.

XXXXX

"So the reports of the new weapons were not an exaggeration," Robb sighed upon observing his retreating men. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, had been killed without any opportunity to defend themselves. The probing attack was a risk, which he knew, but Robb had not expected such a slaughter.

"All due respect, My Lord, how do you intend to fight back against that?" Bolton inquired.

"I have to say, I agree," Royce admitted. "I had dismissed the accounts of the Blackwater, but now. . . sending our men against those weapons would be suicide." Even the Greatjon frowned, no longer possessing his usual spirit.

"I don't intend to give up," Robb refused to consider the suggestion. _I won't insult Sansa's memory by bending the knee. _"There are always locations that are not on any map." Robb placed a hand on Grey Wind's shoulder, confident he would be able to find something.

"Perhaps we can try a night attack, row across the river before the Lannisters realize we're upon them." Grey Wind snarled at Bolton, opening his mouth. Robb gripped his hair to restrain him. Bolton stared with impassive eyes, but Robb detected a faint hint of fear.

"We might get the men across, but not the horses," Royce considered. "Any ford's going to be narrow, and I have my doubts about whether we'll get everyone across before the sun comes up. Before I saw those weapons, I would have considered it of limited importance, but now. . ."

"Understood, My Lords." Robb pondered the new information. He looked around to see skeptical faces in his direction. For the first time, some felt he was incapable of winning the battle.

"We can't retreat; they'll think us weak!" Greatjon announced.

"Build a bridge out of a sight," Royce suggested. "It'll allow us to get everyone across quickly enough to stay out of sight."

"How do you intend to hide something like this?" Bolton wondered. "Surely Tywin will know what we're up to."

"Which is why we're going to build this thing well out of sight, at least half a league," Robb considered. It would be extremely difficult to transport such a thing, even if it was assembled in several pieces. "We'll transport it at night, use the horses to get it to the river, then push it the rest of the way. Some of my best men can use boats to cross, make sure it's where we need it to be."

"My boys can do it; we're not afraid of any Lannisters!" Greatjon laughed. "Besides, I want to be the first to see Joffrey piss himself when he realizes we're across!"

"We'll send our troops north and south of the river, force the Lannisters to follow us," Robb concluded. If he found a location, he would use it, but even that was a dubious proposition. "Joffrey will have to watch the entire river, which will lower their guard enough for when the time is right."

"Your Grace, building a bridge large enough will take weeks," Royce cautioned.

"I know, but if we send the infantry alone, they'll get slaughtered. And time is on our side. None of the villagers will dare to withhold food from us, and Joffrey looks weaker." After a few villages had been wiped out, the others became more complaint. Bolton objected, saying that all of them should be destroyed, but Robb refused. If their crops were intact, the Northern-Vale army could subsist for the long term.

His men argued over the details for a while longer, but agreed. "I won't let you down, Your Grace!" Greatjon laughed.

"I'd expect nothing less from you," Robb complimented. He left the tents, complete with his bodyguards. He could hardly see in between their bodies, trusting them to lead the way back to where his mother was waiting.

"Is there a reason you refused to allow me to attend your war council?" Robb sensed a small rebuke in her voice.

"If anything happens, I don't want you in danger," Robb declared. "I've already lost Sansa. I don't want to lose another family member. And. . . you're not a military strategist, Mother."

"I understand." Catelyn lowered her head. Robb hoped she wouldn't lecture him to be careful. Her heart was in the right place, but there were times her worrying made him look weak in front of his men. "What do you intend to do now?"

"Win."

XXXXX

The Lannister bannermen cheered, raising their swords and boasting the battle would soon be over. Only Matthew stayed silent. "We've used up over half our gunpowder," he announced after a check on his artillery. Iron and stone balls were no problem, but gunpowder was another matter. "This isn't a display we're going to be able to make a second time. I want what we have ready for when Stark crosses the river."

"Why are you still so confident that the boy will cross?" Tywin inquired with a stony face.

"For one thing, he's got that direwolf, and while I don't believe the claims Robb rides him into battle, he does have an unusual connection with him. Grey Wind is smart and he might be able to find a place that human scouts won't. Robb's learned he can't survive a frontal assault. Now if I were in his position, facing superior firepower, I'd launch a night assault. It'd be dangerous for him, but less so than the river is." Tywin thumped his fingers against the table, thinking it over.

"I'll have scouts watching in all directions, day and night. Nobody will cross that I don't know about."

"All the same, I intend to be prepared for anything. The men's morale is high now, and I want to keep it that way, else we could lose by belief alone."

"With the bridges destroyed, how does Stark think he's going to cross a river so swift?" Tyrion remarked. "It would suck under anyone foolish enough to do so." He took the time to glare at Matthew, still furious over being forced to come along.

"I don't think Robb's going to be rational about this. Tell me, Grandfather, if you believed a family member had been tortured to death, would you retreat or wait for the perfect opportunity?" Tywin said nothing, but his silence was reply enough.

"I recommend you stay far away from the river, Your Grace," Jaime commented. "You might consider yourself safe, but I've seen enough fully armored men fall to a lucky arrow strike."

"Fair enough." Jaime talked sense, so Matthew wasn't going to argue with him.

"Your Grace, Robb is moving his forces along the river!" Marbrand stuck his head into the tent.

"That doesn't surprise me; I'm certain he's looking for a way to cross. Or to exhaust us." Matthew knew he couldn't risk letting the enemy out of his sight, so he climbed onto his horse. Each member of the Kingsguard surrounded him.

Robb split his forces in two directions, each going in opposite directions along the river. Enemy banners were no longer visible, making it harder to tell where their exact location was. _He's trying to keep me off-balance, so I don't know where he's going to go next. _Taunts were shouted across the river.

Those resting inside their tents were hauled out by their superiors and ordered to follow the enemy. "You keep an eye on them, I'll go this direction." Matthew stuck his thumb left.

"I promise you, Stark will not cross that river," Tywin declared.

Matthew kept his vision focused on the river, trusting his subordinates to warn him of an incoming attack. His eyes widened even after the open plains began to be replaced by trees. _Glad I'm not the one who has to cross this thing. If Robb was smart, he'd bend the knee, but I expect he's past all reason. _Matthew kept his horse a minimum of one hundred meters away, aware the enemy still possessed scorpions.

Despite some of his fears, Matthew felt confident he'd win the fight. He admitted to having limited political skills, but this he knew. Jaime spotted the Vale cavalry speeding away from the ground troops. "Your Grace. . ." He warned.

"I see them; send a few horsemen to watch them, but otherwise, keep our troops intact." Matthew ordered. "Stark wants us divided and I don't intend to give him what he wants."

Their pursuit continued for the rest of the day, with little order or reason to it. Stark's forces traveled in random directions, hiding in the trees, trading taunts with the Lannisters. But no further blood was shed.

"Okay, I want at least one-third of the men ready to fight at all times," Matthew groaned, his back sore from a day of horseback riding. "Everybody else sleeps in whatever armor they have, weapons at hand. I'm positive Stark is going to try to hit us at night. It's what I'd do if our positions were reversed." He looked at his advisors to see if anyone would disagree. Nobody did. _I was afraid of that. _"And no fires. They might grumble about the cold, but that'll attract the Starks like flies on shit.

With his troops several kilometers away from the central camp, everyone was forced to sleep on the cold ground. Matthew lay his head upon the dirt, intending to live under the same conditions as his troops. All he possessed for a pillow was his arm. Balon and Jaime took the first watch. "No harm will come to you, Your Grace," Balon promised.

Matthew searched through the darkness with a slight shiver. Although he had ordered no fires, distant conversations echoed through his eyes. The wind had died down, a crescent moon overlooking the sky. His right hand kept its grip on his Warhammer. _They get across the river, we're in a lot of trouble. _His forces had been divided into several pieces across the river, paralleling the Northern forces. Matthew placed his ear against the ground. "I've got to get at least some sleep." He muttered. _Still want to go home. _

Matthew closed his eyes and let his exhaustion overtake him. When he next opened his eyes, he felt the sun beating down on him. Barristan assisted Matthew onto his feet and handed him his breakfast. "Thank you very much." He nodded. "How many casualties?"

"None, Your Grace; we suffered no attacks," Barristan informed.

"None?" Matthew rubbed his chin. He had expected at least a few token efforts. That he had slept through the night was little surprise. During the war in his world, he'd seen soldiers sleep in the midst of an artillery barrage.

Matthew put on his helmet and climbed onto his horse. He gestured for his Kingsguard to remove the banners in his presence. No need for the enemy to figure out who he was. Matthew squinted in an attempt to make up Robb's forces across the river.

He rode throughout the camp to ensure Barristan's information was accurate. "Okay, my bet: Stark's forcing us to follow him, so we'll be caught off-guard when he finally does find a way to cross." The river was slightly calmer, making Matthew wonder how long it would take him.

XXXXX

"Swear on the Gods, m'lord," A peasant trembled, bowing his head. Robb stared at the men with distrust.

"So you're telling me there's a place we can cross?" Robb crossed his arms. Several of his bannermen had hands on their swords, ready to kill the peasant if they felt he was lying. He'd been searching for days, all the while keeping the Lannisters off-balance. Robb wanted to exhaust them, make them question his every move.

"Yes, m'lord; there's a place where you can cross. Water's not more than three feet." The man rubbed his beard. "I can show you. . . in exchange for a small reward."

"How much?" Robb didn't trust the man, but if he was telling the truth, it would allow him to crush the Lannisters.

"Ten gold dragons," the man struggled to look at Robb.

"Before I give you anything, I want to verify your story first." Robb wasn't naïve enough to trust him at face value. "Show me this ford."

"At once, M'ilord." The man darted off, moving faster than Robb has expected possible.

"Do you truly consider him trustworthy?" Bolton commented, unreadable as always.

"Let me go in your place, Your Grace." Greatjon offered. "If he's playing us false, it'll be my honor to gut the lying bastard!"

Robb moved through the meadows into the trees, removing his crown and banner to avoid being recognized. Hope and fear warred within him. _This might be a little too convenient. Someone shows up, offering exactly what I need? _However, he considered the risk worth the price of victory.

"Move apart, don't make it so obvious you're trying to protect me," Robb ordered his bodyguards. "Last thing we want is to get Tywin's attention." The Lannister patriarch would pay greatly for an opportunity to take his head. Robb had to push a couple away before everyone followed his instructions, old habits dying hard.

The tree cover became thicker, Robb marching through the underbrush. Twice the man had to slow down to allow his party to keep up. "Just a little further, m'lord." His lip quivered.

Robb's bodyguards looked at him, suspecting a trap. He did as well, but didn't wish to let on. He stood up straight and kept his appearance confident. The man suddenly halted, gesturing to the river with a smile. "Here it is. Water only goes up to my knees here, M'lord."

"Then you're going first," Robb ordered. "Show me the water is as shallow as you say." The man frowned but obeyed the order. He extended his arms for balance and took his first step into the river. "Watch the trees, be ready for any traps." Robb shielded his body behind a tree trunk.

The man marched to the other side of the river after a couple stumbles. He turned around and waved, Robb's bodyguards whispering to themselves. He walked back, no longer extending his arms. His speed increased, the man eager for his payment. "Have I proven my words, m'lord?" He gave a cautious smile.

"Yes, you have served us well." Robb handed him a few gold dragons. The man turned to run, only for Robb to grab his tunic. "Nope, I'm afraid you can't leave just yet. I don't intend to risk the Lannisters finding out about this gambit."

"They'll get naught from me, M'lord, I swear." The man trembled.

"No, I'm going to ensure that they don't. You'll be kept safe until the battle is over." Robb still didn't trust the man. With his greed, he could easily sell out to the Lannisters. Even if he didn't, torture would force the truth out of him. "Once the battle's over, you'll be released with an addition ten gold dragons. You have my word of honor on it." Robb gestured for two of his bodyguards to escort him.

_If I'm able to get my horsemen across the river as well, we'll be able to crush the Lannisters. _It would have to be at night, when his enemy was unprepared for an attack. Even if the journey took until daylight, however, his chances would be far better than trying to cross a dangerous river in battle.

"I can't wait to see the look on their faces when they realize we're across!" Greatjon rubbed his hands together.

"Will we truly be able to get everyone across without the Lannisters knowing?" Bolton remained cautious.

"Provided we use no torches and make our camp look like it's still occupied, yes," Robb went through the plans in his head. He stared at the map for a few more moments before making his final decision. "But. . . I don't intend to gamble everything on just one plan." He pointed to a location a few kilometers away. "We're going to hit the Lannisters in two directions. Our boats can get us across here, even if the number of men will be relatively small."

"What good does that do us if we cannot get enough men across on the boats?" Royce wondered.

"Because their job will be to assault the enemy from behind, catch them in a pincer movement." Robb considered who to send for the task. The Greatjon would want the job, but he wasn't a man for whom subtlety was a concept. "Lord Bolton, can I trust you to ensure they won't be seen?"

"Of course, Your Grace." A small smile spread across his lips.

"And make sure he can't use those weapons against us." Even if they got across the river, Robb feared they could exact a dreadful price upon his troops. _Perhaps we can learn how they work and build them ourselves. _

Whatever Joffrey's new weapons were, Robb's scouts had reported many could not be moved though the mud. Nor would they do him any good in the middle of the night. _So long as they stay that way. _He hoped to be upon Joffrey and Tywin before daybreak.

XXXXX

"Sounds like he's taking the bait," Matthew read over the latest reports on enemy movements. He'd anticipated enemy troops moving left was a diversion to keep him from learning his real plans. _Must be more desperate than I thought if he's willing to take that risk. _"Least we learned about the ford before he did." He glanced over at Stannis and Melisandre, who had not said a word since he summoned them.

"He's a fool for attempting it," Stannis responded. "But have you considered revealing that information could end badly for you?"

"Stark could keep this up for months, especially since he didn't destroy the villages behind the river," Matthew pointed out. "And as you said, the Tyrells might decide to end their food shipments if the tide turns against us. Giving him a false ford would have done no good." Matthew raised his arm, the sun setting in the sky. "He'll start moving at night, perhaps an hour after the sun's fallen."

"If he smells a trap, the surprise will be ruined and all of this will be for nothing."

"Fires from our camp are visible for more than a league. Exactly what I'm counting on." Matthew turned to Melisandre. "Do you see him moving?"

"The powers the Lord of Light has granted me are not summoned on command," Melisandre rebuked, but searched through them regardless. Matthew paced around the tent for several minutes waiting for a response. "I can only see blood staining the ground, nothing more."

"Yeah, real helpful." Matthew rolled his eyes. "Anything to say, since we're alone? This would be a lot easier if you chose to attend the war councils."

"I assist you alone, and only because I do not, as of yet, see Joffrey regaining control." Stannis ground his teeth. "A night attack is risky, but Stark will have no other way to cross the river. The Umbers are rash, though not without a certain intelligence. Bolton will probably remain behind to save his own skin if the attack fails. Stark will lead from the front, as is expected for a Northerner."

"Good." Precisely what Matthew was counting on, in fact. He preferred to command from the rear when possible, but in Westeros, that was the exception. "Will capturing or killing Robb end this war?"

"For the short-term, yes. Few are willing to fight on once their commander has been killed."

"And long-term?"

"The Starks are beloved by their subjects and have been for centuries. While a few Starks have been monsters, most have cherished their honor above all. Killing Robb will win you this battle, but the North remembers."

"I'll worry about that when the time comes. Right now, we need to make sure Stark doesn't suspect we're on to him. Your forces will be in charge of the right flank. I'm sure Melisandre can guide you." Stannis nodded, although not without an unpleasant glare.

"Be cautious, Your Grace." Melisandre brushed her hand against Matthew's cheek. "You still have a role to play."

"I don't plan on taking any unnecessary chances," Matthew promised. He hadn't entirely given up hope on getting home. Matthew marched out of his tent, keeping his pace casual so no observing eyes would pick up on the plan.

"Ah, I thought I'd be too late to greet you," Tyrion waddled over to Matthew.

"Any particular reason you're shadowing me?" Matthew did his best to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"My father ordered me to accompany you," Tyrion commented. "You know, if the two of you were conspiring to have me killed, there are easier ways to do it."

"I don't want you dead, Tyrion. Gagged, yes. Dead? No, I don't see a reason for that." _At the moment. _"Think of it this way. At least you'll have your big brother protecting you."

"He's spent most of his life doing that. Certainly he'll manage a single more night. Him at least I'm certain doesn't wish to see me dead."

"Not a good time for your quips, Tyrion. We've got a job to do." And Matthew knew he couldn't bring his cannons along. _Half of them are still stuck in the mud._ They gave him an edge, but he was low on gunpowder and in Westeros, couldn't use them as too much of a crutch. Superior tactics could still overcome them.

He ordered a few men to remain behind, to maintain the illusion of their presence. "And make sure to be visible. I want Stark to assume everyone else is sleeping."

"Of course, Your Grace." His soldiers agreed.

Once the stars were the only available light, Matthew assembled his soldiers behind the tents. "We do this slowly, make sure we don't spook Stark." He would have preferred to use his cannons, but with the mud, he didn't see a way to bring them in time.

Matthew winced at each step his men took. Even attempting to move quietly, he could hear every squish against the mud, every splash of a puddle. _So long as they don't hear them. _He looked back to see Tywin at the rear, wearing a scowl. He knew the man objected to his intentions, but if the risk paid off, it would end the entire war, at least for a while.

He could only see a few dozen feet in front of him, the Kingsguard presence obstructing his vision. Matthew possessed experience with night attacks. . . when he had night vision goggles, GPS, and proper intelligence, at least. If Robb didn't take the bait, or if they didn't arrive at the proper time, all of this would be for nothing.

He climbed onto his horse, now skilled enough to do it without his mount making a sound. Matthew patted the horse's armor and kept him at a walking pace. Adrenaline screamed at him to charge forward, however foolish it might have been.

Matthew rushed forward to pull down a banner carried in the dark. "I don't want anything visible," He whispered to the men foolish enough to draw attention to themselves. "This needs to go smooth as silk." _Or we're fucked. _But Matthew didn't intend to say those words out loud. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything.

_Is Robb going to fall for this? _Matthew's intelligence indicated he was, but he considered the possibility he was being played. However, sooner or later, Robb would have found the ford, and it would be better he didn't take him by surprise.

He trusted his bodyguards would be able to see any enemies he did not. Matthew knew better than to fight on the front lines, but no plan survived contact with the enemy. Each step, each splash, made him jump with the knowledge all of this could go wrong.

None of his men knew how much time had passed, nor did they know how close they were to Stark's forces. Matthew realized all it would take is a single wrong turn for them to miss their opportunity. Stark's forces were blind, but so were his. Curses echoed from those of his men who walked into trees. Matthew covered his mouth to keep his laughter concealed. _Least I know we're getting close. _He'd make sure to remember where the ford was in case of any misunderstandings.

A trumpet made Matthew jump nearly a foot, armor and all. He prepared his weapon, everyone's heads perking up. A second sound was interrupted moments afterward by a pair of crossbow bolts. Screams echoed through the trees in the distance. Matthew could not see, but felt certain the Northerners had spotted them.

Lannister forces charged into the trees with a cheer, despite being unable to see more than a few feet in front of them. Matthew heard the sound of sword clashes and pleading men, agonized shrieks throughout the landscape. He looked in all directions, unable to see where the enemy was coming from or where they were headed. Who was under attack? Had the ambush succeeded?

"Well, no plan survives first contact with the enemy," Matthew kept his tone light. Battle waged in total darkness. Not a single man carried a torch, using their swords, spears, and axes on whoever appeared to carry an enemy banner. Melisandre had wondered off Gods-knew-where, but he had no time to locate them.

"Your Grace, I recommend you stay where you are," Swann suggested. "They kill you, they've won the battle."

"Tempting as that is, I don't intend to let Stark have everything his own way," Matthew prayed he hadn't just made a crucial mistake. He galloped to the rear of where he assumed his lines were. Who was winning the battle? Matthew didn't have the slightest idea. Melisandre wore a small smile on her face.

He heard the sound of horsemen charging forward, a random lord shouting command to those under him. "What the hell is going on?" Matthew gripped one of his troops. "How did they find us?"

"I don't know, Your Grace," The soldier appeared convinced Matthew would execute him.

"Fuck!" How was he supposed to command a battle when he couldn't see a damned thing? He'd intended to ambush Stark close to sunrise, but it hadn't worked out that way. Matthew's heart felt ready to burst out of his chest. He kept himself prepared for an attack in all directions. Eyes darting around every few seconds, he never moved in the same direction for more than a few moments at a time.

Nor could he be certain the attackers would be Starks. Matthew could barely distinguish friend from foe. Neither could anyone on either side. _What I wouldn't give for a pair of night-vision goggles. _There was little he could do to affect the outcome either way.

His ears perked up at a snarl in the distance. A shadow leaped into the dark, knocking Matthew off his horse. He swung his hammer around, connecting with nothing but air, but the growl was unmistakable.

Grey Wind.

The Kingsguard moved to respond, but Grey Wind was quicker and pulled Matthew off his horse in a single leap. He swung his Warhammer toward the direwolf's skull. Grey Wind dodged it and tore it out of his hand. Matthew lowered his visor in hopes the armor would protect him. He groaned at the feeling of a 300-pound wolf on top of him.

Jaime and Barristan cautiously advanced to defend him, knowing the beast's speed. Grey Wind bypassed them and killed Meryn Trant's horse, trapping him underneath. Its paw removed his helm, allowing the direwolf to open Trant's throat. He screamed for mercy, but the beast had no pity.

Matthew stumbled to his feet as Grey Wind disappeared into the night. "He's here to kill me. He hasn't gone far." Matthew suspected Robb decided to make an assassination attempt of his own. The direwolf was the size of a small horse. Little wonder it had such a terrifying reputation.

Grey Wolf knocked him to the ground a second time, aiming for his helmet. Matthew fought with all his strength to keep it on, knowing he was doomed if the direwolf could anyone near his flesh. Barristan, Balon, and Jaime surrounded it, thrusting their swords at it, but the beast moved quicker than they. Even the couple attacks that did connect spilled only a small amount of blood.

Matthew inched toward his Warhammer, taking advantage of the distraction. Grey Wind turned around and gripped its teeth around his gorget. Matthew clawed at Grey Wind's house, aiming for his eyes. Barristan buried his sword into the creature's back, but still Grey Wind did not relent. Matthew felt himself dragged along the ground, knowing it was only a matter of time before his neck was broken.

Barristan and Balon stabbed the animal repeatedly, hoping to at least get it to retreat, but Grey Wind was on a mission. Matthew found himself unable to breathe from the bite force, the metal cracking. The direwolf would likely die from its wounds, but that would be of small comfort to him.

His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest. Matthew moved his hand, gripping a dagger he always kept on his person. Jaime screamed for bystanders to assist them as they pursued, but nobody could hear over the sounds of battle. Matthew plunged the dagger into Grey Wolf's eye, hot blood spilling onto his armor. The beast roared and collapsed onto the ground.

_How the hell did I get through that? _Matthew attempted to turn his neck, eyes watering from the pain. His part in the battle was over.

XXXXX

Robb swore to himself. He'd hoped to get all his men across the river before daybreak, only for his scouts to warn of a Lannister attack. _How did they find us? _Only a third of his men had gotten across before the enemy attacked, and he hadn't heard anything from Lord Bolton on his efforts.

The battle, now distant, grew closer to him every moment. Robb searched for Grey Wind, but he had disappeared over an hour before, with no explanation or reason.

_My men need me out there, _Robb wasn't accustomed to fighting in the rear, but on previous occasions, he could at least see his enemy. He couldn't see, but had a sinking feeling they were losing. Every instinct in his body wanted to fight, to slaughter all those who dared to join the Lannisters, but he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him.

Those on both sides who attempted to use torches inevitably ended up dead. Robb uncharacteristically froze, uncertain of what to do next. No one could hear his voice and Grey Wind was no longer around to guide him.

"What shall we do, Your Grace?" Smalljon inquired, the largest of his bodyguards, although still slightly smaller than the Greatjon, his father.

"We coordinate with our men, and push the Lannisters back," Robb ordered. "Joffrey can't use his new weapons in the dark and when we're across the river. . ." The sounds of the dying drowned out his next words. Robb had known fear from the time he first took up his banners, but never paralysis.

_They're counting on me; I can't let them down. _In the dark, he knew nothing of the battle's progression.

"Your Grace, we should retreat back across the bank!" Dacey Mormont suggested. "The attack has failed and every moment you delay, more northerners die."

Robb wanted to scream in denial. He was so close to avenging his sister's death, and he would never have a better chance to shove his sword though Joffrey's throat. They would block the ford, keep them from launching another attack, and all bridges had been destroyed.

"Attack!" he heard a scream behind him. Robb's guards circled him, ready for action. He prepared to cut down any who got through. A whirlwind of swords, maces, and hammers resulted. Robb trusted his men to guard his back, thrusting his sword toward any vulnerable part of the body.

Protecting their King, few of his guards had any room to maneuver. So close together, their offensive capabilities were limited. Robb stabbed two people through the face, bypassing their chain mail. The Smalljon pushed Robb behind him, insistent on him not facing any danger.

Only a few sword strikes got anywhere near Robb, and only twice was he forced to deflect them. He moved into a defensive crouch, not wanting to hit his own bodyguards by mistake. Enemy faces reflected in the moonlight, breathing hard, wanting nothing more than to survive.

Two of Robb's bodyguards fell from wounds, the others filling the gaps. Robb took advantage of the opening to behead a man who was in possession of nothing more than a breastplate. "For King Robb!" One of his attackers called out.

"I'm Robb!" Robb exclaimed, his heart sinking. Gradually, people lowered their swords and took a strong look at their opposite numbers. He could just make out the Northern house sigils. Both sides stared in shock. Five were already dead, and a few more wouldn't survive their wounds. Robb worked to drown out the noises of his troops below him.

They still watched each other with suspicion, rage and horror visible on their facial expressions. "What do we do now, My Lord?" One of Robb's former opponents questioned.

"Your Grace, we should retreat across the river," Dacey Mormont advised, blood spatter on the mace she wielded. "We cannot fight under these circumstances." The battle lines closed in by the moment.

Robb loathed the idea of retreat, doubly so because he knew he wouldn't get another chance to hit the Lannisters. _But we can't fight in the darkness like this. We're likely to end up killing each other._ "Get everyone you can back across the ford," Robb gave a reluctant order to his subordinates. Those too close to the fighting would have to be abandoned. He gave a silent prayer to the Old Gods for forgiveness.

"How do you propose to get everyone across?" Smalljon countered. "My Lord, you need to retreat and retreat now. They know their duty, and we know ours."

"We can't save many, but those whom we can assist, we will," Robb didn't intend to throw his men away as Tywin would. With a final regretful glance, what remained of his bodyguards escorted him back. Lannisters, Starks. . . few could make the distinction in the darkness.

_What am I going to do now? _Robb could harass the Lannisters for years, but winter was coming with little time to prepare. He wouldn't be able to pull off such a daring move a second time. _I'm sorry, Sansa. _They creeped through the trees, hoping the ford could be found. The fighting deeper in the woods began to die down, though Robb considered it an ominous sign.

"Do we know where we're going?" One of his bodyguards asked.

"Of course I know where we are," Robb responded. _I hope. _If the Lannisters didn't kill him, his own forces would by mistake. "We'll have to rely on Lord Bolton to cover us." _He should be burning their camps by now. Where is he?_

Robb froze at the sounds of horses. Few Northern and Vale cavalry had yet crossed the river, so he knew they could only be Lannisters. Those who marched beside him stopped moving in hopes their enemy could not detect them. _We're not far. Just a couple hundred meters away from the river. _

Lannister horsemen charged directly toward them, Robb's eyes wide at the realization they'd been spotted. Nowhere to run, or hide; that only left fighting. "Come on, you Lannister pricks! We're worth ten of you!" Smalljon declared, apparently having decided stealth was no longer necessary.

The horsemen surrounded them, picking off Robb's bodyguards one by one. Lances penetrated their chain mail, bodies falling onto the grass. Robb cleaved off the leg of one horse, sending the animal to the ground and crushing its rider, but there was no time to finish him off.

A couple bodyguards broke under the barrage and tried to flee. Neither got more than ten yards before being trampled by Lannister horses. Robb cut a horse's throat, rendering the man unable to fight. He refused to stay still for more than a few moments. If he was to die that night, Robb intended to take as many Lannisters as he could with him.

Only a few of his bodyguards were still unscathed. Robb grunted from the force of a lance hitting his chest, though it thankfully did not penetrate. He nevertheless collapsed to his hands and knees, still determined to fight to the end.

"It's over, Stark." Robb looked up to see Tywin Lannister's sword placed against his throat.

Based a large part of this battle off of one of Alexander the Great's campaign. Battle of the Hydaspes, although with a different outcome. The North's part in this war is over, for the most part. What'll happen to the Starks. . . well, you'll see. Next chapter will be called: "Woe to the Vanquished."


	24. Woe to the vanquished

Going through the story and making some revisions, especially in the post-Blackwater section. One of the plotlines I'd come up with isn't working out, so I'm attempting to fix things and hopefully strengthen the work.

_May the Gods accept my son, _Catelyn struggled to hold back tears. She had been kept at the rear, where it was expected she would be in no danger. Robb was confident, certain victory was near, just like all the other occasions he had ridden into battle.

Yet there had been no sign of him. Ignoring pleas from her bannermen, Catelyn had rushed over to the retreating Northmen, desperate to find Robb. Many failed to notice her in their desperation to get to where they felt was safe.

_Lady Catelyn:_

_ Your son's attack has failed and he is now my prisoner. If you wish to see Robb spared, you will cross the river alone into my encampment and accept the surrender terms I offer you. Agree to them, and your remaining men will be spared. Refuse and they will pay the piece._

_ Note that I will consider any attempt to buy time or ambiguous response as a refusal and act accordingly. You have until the sun falls to respond._

_Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm_

Catelyn read the letter out loud to the bannermen assembled around her. A few screamed and cursed, but most stood there in quiet rage. She listened intently for a new plan of attack, some way the Lannisters could still be defeated. Without Robb, no one appeared certain of what to do.

"I will cross the river and negotiate with the King," Catelyn decided after some hesitation.

"It's a trap, My Lady." Royce warned. "King Joffrey will kill you as well if you cross the river."

"A risk I must take," Catelyn braced herself for the inevitable.

"My Lady, please consider what you are doing!" Maege Mormont implored of her. "If you cross that river, we cannot protect you, and we cannot trust a man like Joffrey Lannister to keep his word! Your husband has already died at his hand!"

"And if I do not go, my son will suffer the same fate." Catelyn forced back the rage inside her at Ned's death. "What else would you have me do, my Lords? Shall we make another attempt across the river?" For a moment, she was tempted to take up arms herself. Catelyn knew she would not be the first woman to lead an army, and she had sat on enough war councils to understand strategy.

_We still have the Vale. _The Imp's cutthroats could make things dangerous for the smallfolk, but posed no serious threat to their sovereignty. Lysa, however, was not a brave woman and had only acted. . . after the Lannisters announced Baelish had been executed.

"Prepare a boat for me," Catelyn eventually ordered. A few of her bannermen frowned, but moved to obey her orders. _At least Arya is out of their hands. _Her younger daughter, at least, was safe at Winterfell.

XXXXX

"You shouldn't have agreed to surrender to them." Robb turned his head to look at his mother. Her face was expressionless, but he had no trouble reading her anxiety. "I didn't want you anywhere near the Lannisters."

"I wasn't going to leave you to their mercy," Catelyn decided. "They threatened to kill you if I didn't comply."

"They're going to do that anyway, as they did to Sansa." Robb clenched his fists. He'd been escorted into one of the enemy tents with several Lannister bannermen outside. Robb could not have escaped even if he'd had the strength to do so. "I'm going to be executed, but I didn't think you'd be foolish enough to put yourself in such danger."

"You're my son. I don't need any other reason." Catelyn placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off. Robb refused to show weakness when he was in enemy captivity.

However tempted he was to pace around, he resisted the urge. Robb knew Joffrey and Tywin were trying to break him by making him wait. They wanted him off-balance, frightened, angry. _I won't give them what they want. _So he hoped, at least. Robb wasn't certain whether he could control himself at Joffrey's presence. Sansa was an innocent soul and however much he wanted to deliver justice, he couldn't.

"Robb. . . I know this is going to be painful to hear, but bending the knee would be best." Catelyn counseled.

"You would have me surrender to them?" Robb spoke with quiet fury, ensuring the guards couldn't hear their conversation.

"I mourn for Sansa and Ned as well, but consider our current position. You are their captive, we risked everything to win this battle, and we lost."

_How did this happen? _That the Lannisters matched him in numbers and held a superior defensive position hadn't fazed him any. Robb had won battles against worse odds and Joffrey was a boy playing at war; so he believed. Was there anything he'd done wrong, a mistake he'd made? The new weapons were a surprise, but he compensated for them. They were slow and could only fire so many times.

He'd been certain fording the river during nighttime would allow him to seize victory. _Maybe I was deluding myself. _His men had believed he was invincible. Robb wondered if he fell victim to his own hype.

Joffrey marched into the tent, accompanied by his Kingsguard. He wore a small smile on his face, hands behind his back. Robb looked for an opening, but even if he were armed, Barristan or Jaime would remove his head before he had an opportunity to try anything. "Robb, Lady Stark." Joffrey gave them a brief nod. "I trust you haven't been waiting long."

Robb saw Grey Wind's head in a large basket carried by Ser Balon Swann. He felt his blood boil at the thought of his direwolf butchered. "You dare. . ."

"Your direwolf attempted to kill me," Joffrey spoke casually. "He failed to do so. Not a bad plan, I grant you, but I'm aware of what a dire wolf's capabilities are." Jaime wore his usual smirk, standing alongside his supposed nephew and secret son. Robb shuddered at the idea of him and his sister coupling together.

"Lord Joffrey, let us begin this discussion." Catelyn kept her tone diplomatic.

"You will refer to him as 'Your Grace', or I will have your tongue removed." Mandon Moore threatened.

"We really don't have much to discuss." Joffrey sat down. "You're in no position to offer terms, in case the reality of your situation has yet to sink in. You set my kingdom on fire for ambition and revenge. I hope you have a very good reason why I shouldn't execute you both."

"You tortured and murdered my sister!" Robb slammed his fists on the table. Joffrey's guards put their hands on swords but Joffrey revealed no response. "You had my father killed! You dare speak to me about atrocities?" Catelyn put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"No, Lord Baelish had your father killed, both because I would get the blame for it and because Eddard possessed his greatest desire." Joffrey's eyes went to Catelyn. "And you thought he got over you."

"Your Grace, the battle is over." Catelyn's eyes glinted with danger. "There is no need to continue with such falsehoods."

"What would I have to gain from killing him? Ned was far more useful to me alive. Killing him ended any chance of ending this war. And I have still yet to hear any reason to spare your lives. Treason against the crown carries only one punishment."

"You've won this battle, but you haven't won the war, Joffrey." Robb refused to use his proper title. "I still have all the might of the Vale behind me."

"Funny; I was told you were a competent commander." Joffrey pushed his feet onto the table. It took all Robb's self control not to punch the arrogant son of a bitch. "And you never lost a battle. . . until now. Starting a war you couldn't win wasn't very smart of you, and now thousands are dead for it."

"I was right about you from the beginning. A second Mad King."

Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "If I was this 'Mad King', neither you nor your mother would still be alive. All my captives would be burned alive." He folded his hands and put his feet onto the floor. "However amusing it is to listen to your futile anger, we do have a surrender to arrange."

"We can still hurt you. No army has ever managed to survive an invasion to the North."

"Perhaps you can." Joffrey shrugged. "But your position grows weaker by the day. I'm to marry Margaery Tyrell the moment I return to King's Landing, with all the power of Highgarden behind me. Your men are demoralized, broken, and wish to go home. As your house words say, 'Winter is Coming.' How long will you last without food imports from the South?"

"What are your terms?" Robb choked back his rage.

"First of all, both of you will come to me to King's Landing and publicly declare me the true King. You will apologize for your treason and beg for mercy, which I will grant. . . to a point."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't intend to execute you, provided you don't force my hand. And you'll be able to see Lady Sansa again, at least for a short time."

"You wish to display her corpse to us?" Catelyn's stoic demeanor broke and tears rolled down her eyes.

"No, she's still alive, or she was when I left."

"I saved your daughter's life, Lady Catelyn." Jaime Lannister flashed a smirk at them. "Varys had a few of her birds attempt to murder her. It was too late for her friend, but I managed to prevent any further damage."

"You're lying," Robb said immediately. Joffrey had boasted about the murder, and the Kingslayer attempted to cover up for him.

"You can visit her once we arrive at King's Landing," Joffrey declared. "Granted, she was still in a coma when I departed, but Grand Maester Pycelle is doing everything in his power to ensure her survival."

"Why should we believe a word you say?" Catelyn spoke. "Petyr is my oldest friend. He would never betray me."

Joffrey broke out laughing. "You haven't spent much time in King's Landing, have you? Some will betray even their family for power. We're only beginning to discover the damage Baelish has caused to the realm. He was obsessed with you, bragged about taking your maidenhead at court. It was his favorite story." Catelyn blushed bright red at his words.

"So what terms do you offer us?" Robb intervened. He wished to spend no more time in Joffrey's presence than necessary.

"You order the Tullys to submit to the Iron Throne as well. The North will pay increased taxes to the crown for a decade. This is to help pay for the damage you caused."

"What we caused?" Robb glared. "Tywin marched into the riverlands, with his brigands raping, pillaging, and burning everything in their path!"

"I've read enough reports to know you did the same in the Westerlands. I'm not interested in a pissing contest as to whom committed worse atrocities. As a gesture of goodwill, the Tully will be allowed to remain Wardens and no additional taxes will be levied. If your bannermen wish for funds to repair their lands, you can negotiate with my grandfather for a loan."

"And what are you going to do with me?" Robb questioned.

"Once you swear loyalty to me in King's Landing, you will be allowed to return to Winterfell. There is a catch, however. Your family will no longer be Wardens of the North. That title will be given to someone more deserving."

"Joffrey. . . Your Grace. . ." Robb choked on the words. "My family has ruled the North for thousands of years."

"Yes, interesting how long families last in Westeros. So unlike. . . never mind, I'm getting off track." Joffrey brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. "Perhaps you should have considered the consequences before rebelling against the crown. I'm not stripping Winterfell away and giving it to the new warden, so count your blessings." His eyes narrowed. "I'm sure the Dreadfort will be perfectly suitable."

Robb stood up. Jaime's hand went to his sword in case he tried anything. _Bolton. . . _He'd heard nothing from the man since sending him to harass the Lannister camp as a distraction. Far as he could tell, the Lannisters had suffered no losses. _Now Bolton's the Warden of the North. _Robb doubted that was a coincidence.

"You're the one who started the war." Joffrey crossed his arms. "Lady Catelyn seized my uncle without cause and carted him off to the Vale. Her sister attempted to murder him, only sparing him due to Lord Bronn's intervention."

"And that justifies. . ."

"Shut it, Stark. I'm not interested in listening to self-righteous bullshit."

"I had good reason to believe your Uncle was responsible for the attempt on my son's life." Catelyn pushed her chair aside. "I intended to find out the truth."

"This would be far easier if you didn't have your head wedged up your ass." Joffrey waved a hand. "Yes, I know I'm supposed to conduct this meeting with courtesy, but there is only so much stupidity I can tolerate. Tell me, what evidence did you have my son was guilty?" He looked over at Jaime, who had removed his mocking smile and replaced it with a furious glare.

"I found his dagger in the hands of the man he hired. It was made of Valyrian Steel. Petyr confessed to losing it to Tyrion in a joust when his brother was unhorsed."

"You threatened my brother's life because you were stupid enough to trust a man like Baelish?" Jaime spoke with quiet fury. "And here I thought my opinion of you couldn't get lower. Tyrion never bets against me, which you'd know if you had bothered to speak to anyone else in King's Landing."

"My Kingdom has suffered far too much due to your foolishness," Joffrey added. "You did nothing to prove my Uncle was responsible, which he isn't. Tyrion's an alcoholic and whoremonger, but not a murderer." Robb's face darkened at such language being used in front of his mother. "Your idiocy tore the realm apart even before my father died. Your husband was a fool to validate your actions, though I know he was acting out of devotion. Because of what you did, you caused the death of Ned Stark and countless others. The damage you cause ends now."

Catelyn kept her face expressionless, though Robb knew she wanted to break down. "My father was a good man, an honorable man, and you besmirch his memory?" Robb cursed ever losing to a boy like Joffrey.

"He was; I don't dispute that. Unfortunately, good people don't always make good leaders. Like you, Catelyn, he trusted Baelish, and it led to his downfall." Robb would never believe Joffrey was innocent of murdering his father. No doubt Baelish was a viper, as most were in King's Landing, but the King was a monster. "But we are here to discuss your surrender. In addition to my previous terms, Lady Catelyn, you will write a letter to your brother telling him submit to the Iron Throne. I don't expect he'll want to lose a sibling."

"And what do we get in return?" Catelyn asked in a defeated tone.

"You get to live and keep most of your titles. I will require hostages from your prominent bannerman as well to ensure nobody else gets any ideas." Robb muttered curses under his breath. "Out with it, Robb."

"I don't recommend pushing us into a corner," Robb narrowed his eyes. "However, I do have. . . one request and that is for my family to remain Wardens of the North. My bannermen will not follow Roose Bolton."

"I will stay at King's Landing to ensure my son's obedience," Catelyn spoke up.

"That's already been decided for you, so it isn't a concession," Jaime mocked.

"You haven't lost Winterfell, or your lives, so be grateful." Joffrey smirked. "I expect, were our positions reversed, I could expect no mercy from you." Robb would have been happy to give Joffrey to Lord Bolton, at least if the man hadn't betrayed him.

"I want my sister's bones returned to Winterfell." Robb would not budge on that. "She deserves to be at peace alongside her ancestors."

"Hard to do, considering she's still among the living. Isn't burying someone alive cruel for a Stark?" Jaime mocked. Joffrey raised a hand before Robb could respond.

"I'm aware you don't believe me, which is precisely what Varys hoped for. Once we arrive at King's Landing, visit her as often as you like."

"Assuming you're telling the truth, what happens to her?" Catelyn kept her voice from sounding too desperate.

"Like you, she'll stay at King's Landing. Lady Sansa has shown little inclination to leave. Surprising, considering the city's a shithole with a pit of vipers in the center." They argued for a while longer, but Robb saw no way around the King's terms. With his men broken and demoralized, he didn't have the energy to fight on.

"You leave us with little," Robb rebuked.

"Woe to the vanquished, Stark." Joffrey smiled. "I've learned better than to offer traitors lenient terms."

_The North Remembers, Joffrey, _Robb thought to himself. He'd do what was necessary to keep his family alive, but he would not forget. Bolton wouldn't keep his position long, not if he had anything to say about it. His bannermen would not follow a traitor.

_That went surprisingly well, _Matthew mused on the negotiations. Stubborn and furious as Robb was, he still had to recognize when he was in a hopeless position. Had he chosen to fight on, the battle would be his, but the Northerners could still inflict much harm upon him. Keeping Catelyn hostage would ensure the Riverlords bent the knee as well.

Matthew doubted Bolton would be able to keep the North for long, especially with Ramsey as a liability. The Starks were loved and respected by their bannermen, whereas the Boltons would only be feared. Worse, they would be known as traitors to their brethren.

However, the infighting would mean the threat Stark posed would be neutralized. Even if triumphant, Robb wouldn't possess the strength for a second attempt, even leaving out the hostages in King's Landing. **"How wonderful! You're having the savages kill each other!" **

_I think I preferred your insults, Joffrey. _Matthew groaned, tired of listening to him. He didn't care how much Joffrey screamed, but when the psychopath approved of his actions, Matthew worried.

XXXXX

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Arya held the dragon egg, never imagining she'd ever see one for real. At first, she was positive it was a replica, but after some private research in Winterfell's library, the truth became apparent. Why a dragon egg was hidden underneath her Aunt Lyanna's grave, however, she did not know.

She hadn't spoken a word to anyone about what she found, not even her brothers. The egg felt. . . felt alive, not a relic of days gone by. Part of Arya imagined flying on the back of a dragon, as Visenya and Rhaenys had during the Conquest of Westeros.

But she had the strong feeling the egg wasn't meant for her. _I can't show it to anyone. They wouldn't understand. _

Arya's ears perked up at the sounds of fighting outside her chambers. She jumped up, knocking the egg onto the floor, and grabbed Needle by her bedside. Arya heard demands to withdraw but from what she could hear, no one was listening.

"I knew I'd find you here." Reek grinned, hands behind his back. Arya drew Needle at the sight of him, aiming the point at his throat. Sounds of fighting echoed throughout Winterfell.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords. _Arya nevertheless found herself backing away from the sight of Reek. "Get out of my room right now, or I'll have you executed!" She shrieked.

"Oh, I don't think you're going to be in any position to pull that off." Reek laughed. Arya's nose curled at the smell of him. He shut the door and marched forward with a predatory grin on his face.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords! _Arya's back hit the wall. "Touch me and I'll kill you!" Her eyes darted around for a possible exit route. With her guards dead and no one capable of assisting her at that moment, she didn't know if it was possible. Her hands shook, sweat dripping into her eyes.

"Ramsey's wanted you from the beginning, but he's allowed me to have a taste of you first." Reek licked his lips. "Your family's time is done." He allowed himself a small laugh. "I've never had a Stark girl before."

Arya trembled despite herself, no longer capable of speech. Reek approached her, step by step, until he was only a foot out of reach of her blade. She would not fall into his grip, no matter what it took. "Get away from me!" Arya thrusted the sword in his direction, forcing Reek to jump back. Her cut only drew a slight amount of blood, amusing him.

"Put that toy away; you're not going to do anything to me." Reek pulled out a sword much thicker than Needle. Arya moved from side to side, desperate for a way to escape. "Tell me: do you want to survive this? You'll. . ." Reek swung his sword. Arya ducked and aimed the point at his chest. The point bounced off the breastplate hidden underneath his clothes. "Bitch!"

Arya did not respond. Young as she was, she understood killing him was the only way to survive. Reek swung at her, using his sword as a butcher's cleaver. Arya ducked and evaded each one, searching for an opening in his defense. Reek's snarl sounded like nothing human.

Adrenaline allowed her to escape from Reek's grip, her small frame sufficient to avoid significant harm. Arya pierced his clothing several times, but never in an unprotected area. Reek quickened his pace, swinging his sword widely, with little care or attention to his surroundings.

Arya ducked underneath another swing, Reek's sword getting stuck in her dresser. She aimed a desperate thrust through his throat, Needle coming out the other side of Reek's body. He gurgled and clutched the wound, his sword forgotten. Arya stabbed him through the eye, refusing to give him another opportunity to harm her.

She fell to her knees, taking in what had happened. If Reek had shown more intelligence, if he had brought in his guards as well. . . Arya knew she would not have escaped his clutches. _How am I supposed to get past them? _None of Bolton's loyalists had responded to her efforts. _Quiet as a shadow. _If they hadn't acted, they assumed Reek had triumphed.

Arya creeped to the door, Needle in hand. She looked down at the floor, making out those standing outside her chambers. Her blood froze, knowing she would only have one opportunity. Arya's fingers curled around the doorknob, gathering her courage. She took a deep breath and threw the door open.

Reek's first guard had Needle plunged into his throat before he had a chance to respond. His second goon jumped back, hand reaching for his sword. Arya sidestepped him and stabbed his arm just as he drew, her opponent possessing no more than a breastplate and helmet.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here!" Rodick Cassel urged, blood dripping down a wound on his face. His tone allowed no room for argument.

"What about Bran and Rickon?" For the first time, Arya found herself grateful Sansa was at King's Landing.

"Ramsey's holding them hostage; moved fast before anyone could stop him." Sword clashes throughout Winterfell emphasized his point. "We will get them free, but that will take time. Come on!" He looked ready to drag Arya along with him.

_I'll kill you for this! _Arya fantasized about shoving Needle through Ramsey's throat. She'd tried to warn them about Bolton's bastard, but since she was a child, and a girl, they had dismissed her words as hysterical.

Rodrick led her through the castle, throwing a hood over her head. "I know you're wishing to help, but right now, your best chance is getting out of this place alive." Arya scowled at being treated like a child. He'd never approved of training her and only did so because Bran insisted. "And sheathe your sword. It's far too recognizable."

However much Arya wanted to argue with him, she couldn't deny it made sense. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. _She kept her hand ready to draw it regardless. Stark and Bolton loyalists fought in every room, paying little attention to two individuals attempting a discreet exit of the castle.

"I told you he was dangerous!" Arya whispered, no longer able to contain her frustration. "I knew he couldn't be trusted, and said you should throw him out of the castle!"

"I apologize for the error, My Lady, but we can discuss this once we're out of here." The duo spotted several Stark bannermen finishing off their opponents. Rodrick approached them and ordered: "We need to get Lady Arya out of Winterfell. Give us as much time as you can and provide a distraction for us before the bastard finds out where we've gone!"

Arya recognized each of them: smallfolk whom her father had agreed to train and house in exchange for their loyalty. All of them nodded, knowing how unlikely it was they would survive the current battle.

"So tell me: what happened?" Arya demanded to be informed. Despite Rodrick's warning, she pulled out Needle, refusing to be defenseless a second time.

"The bastard promised to reinforce our defenses in case the wildlings breached the Wall, but it was a trick." Rodrick spoke as they ran. A Bolton man attempted to intercept them, but he cut him down without breaking stride. "His bastard's boys ambushed our men, took Bran and Rickon captive before anyone could react. I knew I had to reach you before the same happened."

_Should have slit his throat when I first saw him. _Arya snarled, attempting to keep her grip on Needle and the dragon egg at the same time. They wandered through the corridors of Winterfell, forced to rely on dim light to find their way around. The sounds of battle faded, though her grip on Needle was as strong as ever.

"There's a passage leading to the outside of the castle," Rodrick led her to the catacombs. "From there, we'll be able to find a couple horses, but we've got to hurry. I trust you know the way?"

"We're going to have a long talk about this when we get clear." Arya nodded. Only a handful of torches were lit, in sharp contrast to her previous visit. _I can lead us through; I remember the way. _She quickened her pace, wandering silently though the catacombs.

She ignored the growing cold, relying on her memory to guide her. Arya could see naught but a few shadows, with all the torches out. Despite the danger, she slowed her pace, heart racing with the knowledge that a single slip could be deadly. Rodrick's footsteps echoed behind her, lacking Arya's stealth.

She turned her head and pressed her ear against the stones to ensure they were not being followed. Did anyone notice them? See them in the chaos? Arya's breath quickened at the thought. "I don't hear anyone coming behind us." Rodrick attempted to reassure.

Arya clutched the dragon egg with all her strength. It gave her comfort, heat radiating from Lyanna's gift. Even if it wasn't meant for her, the egg was the only thing she had of an aunt she'd always been told she resembled. Arya bit her lip to keep from trembling.

"So where are we going to go?" Arya demanded as they climbed out of the catacombs. She shivered from the breeze, a remainder that winter was on its way.

"The only place we can go, a place where no Northman, even those loyal to Bolton, would dare to assault," Rodrick responded. "Castle Black." Arya felt her heart lighten at those words. Jon had always been her favorite brother, bastard or not.

Behind them, a pair of blue eyes stared.


	25. Prophecy

"Shame; it appears he survived the battle," Oberyn Martell waited at the King's Gate alongside his paramour, niece, and bannermen. He'd taken only a few, fearing a possible trap, but it was enough for a show of force.

"Don't worry, Uncle; I know what to do." Arianne nodded, many of the surrounding peasants leering at her. Ellaria watched Oberyn with a concerned face.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" She questioned.

"I have waited half my lifetime for justice. I will not be denied it now." At a minimum, he would only leave with Clegane and Lorch's head. Tywin was temporarily out of reach, but not for long.

Dorne had considered joining the Starks when war broke out, but Oberyn and his brother held them responsible for Elia's death no less than Tywin Lannister. Ned had joined the rebellion that claimed her life. Oberyn held a brief consideration toward giving indirect support, though it ultimately amounted to nothing.

The Lannister host slowed down as they approached the Capital, Joffrey riding in the front, flanked by his Kingsguard. Behind them, Oberyn spotted two members

"Prince Oberyn, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Joffrey nodded from his horse. A man of steel, not the boy he had anticipated.

"I do apologize for the delay, but with the weather changing, travel is difficult," Oberyn lied. He'd intentionally timed it to where he and his niece would arrive at the same time. Arianne stepped forward, revealing as much cleavage as she could. "My niece, Myrcella."

"Truly, you're even more beautiful than the stories." Joffrey looked down her neckline, as did most of his procession. Oberyn scanned their eyes, calculating how many he could kill during their distraction. He made a mental shake of the head; however tempting, he couldn't kill the King with so many around. "Please enjoy our hospitality. After such a long journey, you must be exhausted." Joffrey turned away from Arianne, less mesmerized than Oberyn hoped.

"Congratulations on your victory over the Starks." Oberyn looked over at them, heads bowed down. The former contender for the Throne still possessed spirit, but his mother appeared truly beaten.

"A hard-fought battle, but things should be settling down now. I can get to work improving all of Westeros. My father unfortunately left the realm in considerable disrepair and it is up to me to fix what he started." Oberyn raised an eyebrow at Joffrey's willingness to disparage his supposed father. Clearly, the boy was unaware of his true parentage.

"I am here due to your proposal: a match between yourself and my niece. I was unwilling to bring her here without escort, for I have not forgotten what happened to my sister when she was in the Capital." It had been almost eighteen years, but Oberyn's anger had not dimmed in the least.

"Yes, we will have much to discuss when the time comes. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy our hospitality. Chataya's establishment is the best in King's Landing, with a couple Dornish girls if you have a taste for home. I recommend Alayaya if you're looking for passion and a. . . willingness to experiment." Joffrey smirked at Ellaria.

"Thank you for keeping my welfare in mind." Oberyn studied him carefully. Joffrey was aware of his reputation, but held the seriousness of an older individual.

"I've always been curious what it's like to be with a King," Arianne flirted but with calculating eyes behind it. "Perhaps we can have a. . . private meeting later."

"Who am I to say no to such an enticing offer?"

"I expect my nephew will be able to provide all the entertainment you want," Tyrion interrupted while Jaime chuckled and Tywin fumed. "He can satisfy even the tastes of Dorne."

"Ah, Tyrion. It's been many years since I last saw you." Oberyn nodded. Arianne hid her disgust behind a polite smile. "You were but a newborn babe last time. You haven't grown much since then, clearly."

"No one is more disappointed than I am," Tyrion quipped. "Save, perhaps for my Lord Father." Tywin observed the conversation with a cold expression.

"I've heard you're responsible for the tax on brothels and pubs. A few stories from the smallfolk."

"Those were my orders, and my Uncle merely followed my instructions," Joffrey informed, dismounting from his horse and looking Arianne over.

"The King has many duties," Tywin interjected. "I understand you have come a long way, but once everything has settled down, we can discuss the details."

"So soon? I'm enjoying meeting you at last, Your Grace." Arianne gave a slight bow, Joffrey looking down her neckline. So did Tyrion and most of those close enough to see it.

"The pleasure is all mine, My Lady." Joffrey stroked her arm for a moment. "Now I have surrender terms to dictate and a continent to stabilize. Once that is concluded, we can work out our proposal."

"I would expect you to make your new bride a higher priority, especially a woman so beautiful." Oberyn anticipated the Lannisters had changed the King's mind on the match. While he had no desire for a match, he could play up the affront to Arianne's honor.

"I would love nothing more than to spend time with her, but duty waits for no one." Joffrey carefully avoided calling Arianne his bride.

"And justice? How long must I wait for that?" Oberyn swallowed his desire to kill Tywin where he stood. He had waited eighteen years. A few more weeks would make no difference.

"You'll soon see it." Joffrey clapped his shoulder. "We both know such an act cannot go unavenged." _I know why you're really here _was what he was really saying.

"Then you understand why a brother's pain can fester. My older brother might have forgiven, but I am not so generous. Lannisters are not the only ones who pay their debts."

"Do remember where you are." Barristan and Balon moved to shield the King from any possible attacks. "We will continue this at a later time."

"I will ensure you have what you're looking for." Tywin moved his horse aside to allow Oberyn another look at the Starks. Joffrey and his men departed without another word. Oberyn noticed a subset among them, wearing different uniforms and a few of them carrying unfamiliar weapon. His mind considered the possibilities. "So what did you think of him?" Oberyn inquired once they were out of earshot. No doubt Joffrey's spies were listening to every word, however.

"He's not what I expected," Arianne's eyes darted around the city.

"No." Oberyn anticipated dealing with an arrogant, spoiled prick, doubly so because he'd won a major victory. With the Starks defeated, the Lannisters no longer faced serious opposition to their rule. . . or so they believed.

_The wedding between him and Margaery isn't finalized yet, though it's only a matter of time. _Oberyn looked over at his niece with a smirk. She would be able to distract Joffrey long enough to delay the alliance and if the Tyrells balked at catching them in bed together, all the better.

Joffrey might not have been like the rest of his family, but he was still a Lannister and tainted by their deeds. Oberyn intended to respond accordingly.

XXXXX

_I will not let them hear me scream, _Catelyn promised, hoping she could keep it. Joffrey had promised they would not be harmed, but she knew how little the King's promises were worth. Robb marched beside her, dark curses under his breath. Jaime and Barristan flanked them while Joffrey marched behind, an unreadable expression on his face.

"So when is this ceremony?" Robb got right to the point.

"In a couple of hours." Joffrey shrugged. "You two have become the talk of the Red Keep."

"Sansa!" Catelyn covered her mouth with her hand, no longer caring about proper decorum. Her daughter was naked under the sheets, complete with several dark red stab wounds. Sansa's chest slowly moving up and down was the only indication she was still alive.

"What kind of insult is this?" Robb spoke with quiet fury. "You try to murder my sister and force us to see your handiwork? I wish I'd have killed you in the training yard!"

"I know you're still grieving, so I'm going to pretend this once you didn't threaten me." Joffrey met his eyes without flinching. "Do consider your position before you open your mouth again." He turned to Jaime. "Allow them to visit however long they like. Court will be assembled when this meeting is concluded." Joffrey resumed staring at Robb. "I trust you can behave yourself. Lady Sansa won't be happy if you're executed."

Catelyn pressed her ear against Sansa's heart, listening to faint thumps emanating from her chest. She stroked her daughter's hair, tears in her eyes. Despite the circumstances, there was still a faint joy they had reunited. By the Seven, her daughter would survive.

"I hope you've been looking after her," Catelyn threatened the Grand Maester. Old as he was, she was confident she could strangle him before the Kingslayer could stop her.

"Of course, I have, my Lady," Pycelle doddered. "I have fed her honey three times a day, cleaned her wounds, and used maggots to remove the dead tissue. I have done all it is within my power to do." He got to his feet with an enormous groan.

"Thank you." Catelyn's tone was grudging but sincere. All she could do was pray for Sansa's recovery. _Bran made it through. She will too. _

"She's got the blood of the North within her," Robb tried to convince his mother as well as himself. He adjusted her blanket, lip curling at Sansa's wounds. Behind them, Jaime watched with his usual smile.

"You know, if I had not arrived when I did, she would not be lying here now," Jaime commented. "Never thought I'd save the life of a Stark."

"You're the one responsible for her condition in the first place," Robb looked ready to attack him. Jaime moved into a combat position, but did not draw his sword.

"And you think that makes up for you attempting to murder my son?" Catelyn couldn't decide whether to scream or cry. "For burning our lands and killing my husband?"

"You kidnapped my brother and your sister intended to murder him. Nor have I forgotten the rotten food, stones, and beatings your men inflicted during my captivity. And yet I took the time to save your precious Sansa from the eunuch. Perhaps you should show me a little gratitude."

"Gratitude? To you?" Had they not been hostages, Catelyn would have attacked him, ignoring his legendary skill with a blade. "You attempted to murder my son! An innocent boy who had done nothing to you! And you think because my daughter is unconscious instead of dead, I owe you something!"

"Tell me, Lady Catelyn, what would you have done were our positions reversed?" Jaime wore his smile, but his face went red. "If a boy had discovered something about you and your beloved Ned? Children can't keep secrets, even in King's Landing. If you knew his words could lead to the death of not only you, but the children you love, what would you have done?"

"I. . ." Catelyn wanted to scream in denial, but she would have done anything to protect them. If that involved murdering an innocent boy. . .

"I am sorry for what happened. Bran didn't deserve what happened to him, but I would make the same decision even knowing the consequences. So would you, even if your Stark honor doesn't allow you to admit it."

"We may have lost to you, but that does not mean you get to insult us." Catelyn's voice lacked its previous rancor. She would never forgive Jaime's actions, but. . . she privately admitted she didn't know what she would do under the same circumstances. If the Gods were kind, she would never find out.

"Actually, I can say whatever I want to you. You have no power to control me any longer. Don't think I've forgotten the hospitality I enjoyed." Catelyn knew the Kingslayer had been beaten and humiliated, with neither her nor her son doing anything to stop them. Jaime smirked at the implied threat.

After another hour of visiting Sansa, Catelyn prepared to walk into court. They couldn't avoid it forever. She gave a final kiss to her daughter's cheek and prepared herself for the worst. "Robb, do not do anything to endanger yourself or Sansa." Catelyn feared her son's temper would get the best of her.

"I should have won that battle," Robb grumbled but lowered his head. He had made an error and now they paid the price for it. The Vale still had military strength, but Catelyn no longer saw the point in fighting. It would only lead to further tragedy.

Hundreds of people awaited them in court, eyes on her and Robb. Catelyn told herself not to shrink from their arrogant faces. At least some of them had been responsible for the death of her husband. Joffrey awaited them on the Iron Throne, in his glory. "Good to see you here at last," Joffrey bragged. "It seems the reputation of Northerners was an exaggerated one." Laughter echoed throughout the room.

Robb's face turned bright red. Catelyn knew he wasn't about to let things go without a little humiliation. She put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him from saying something foolish. Joffrey raised his hand, gesturing for the others to remain quiet. "However, I am not an unreasonable man. I will spare your lives, provided you agree to the terms I mentioned before. Do you?"

"I do, Your Grace." Catelyn bowed before him. With clenched teeth, Robb proclaimed the same.

"Do you denounce the false rumors of my parentage?" Joffrey thumped his fingers against the Iron Throne.

"Yes, Your Grace." Catelyn and Robb spoke together. She wasn't sure whether they were true, wondering if even Cersei could be so mad as to bear children from her brother.

"Do you swear, from this day until your last day, that I am the true King of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I do," Catelyn made sure her voice carried across the entire court. She intended to give Joffrey no reason to kill her children. Robb kneeled in silence, stone-faced. She gave him a discreet nudge to the ribs.

"I do, Your Grace," Robb was all diplomacy but his eyes told a different story.

"Then so long as the Starks and the North continue to abide by the terms I set, your lives will be spared. Fail to meet your obligations and you will receive the maximum penalty. Am I understood?"

"I understand you completely, Your Grace."

"Your Grace, if I may ask a favor." Robb bowed for the first time. Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "If you must hold a hostage in the Red Keep, take me. Do not punish my mother for the actions I chose. She implored me to make peace with you earlier."

"Then you should have listened. No, you will return to Winterfell, where you will be subordinate to a Warden more loyal to the Crown. Lord Bolton is anxious to receive you, no doubt." They had risen up and lost almost everything. Robb could do nothing but obey.

This was her home now, to live out the rest of her days at a hostage. Her brother and Uncle would soon be forced to submit as well. At least she was able to see Sansa again.

XXXXX

Daenerys paced through the Great Pyramid of Meereen in a fury, flanked by her loyal bloodriders. She muttered to herself, not caring what kind of display it provided to those she had conquered.

_This is not what I wanted! _Daenerys had freed the slavers, who worshipped her as a result. She'd expected that by taking control of Slaver's Bay, the horrible institution would be destroyed for good. Daenerys refused to turn her back when witnessing such suffering.

Only it hadn't gone as she planned. Many slaves, especially older, educated slaves, pleaded to be allowed to sell themselves back into slavery. Unable to refuse them anything in their desperation, Daenerys agreed, though she watched their masters as closely as she could for potential harm. They had few better options available to them.

Many others still worked for their former masters, given a small salary to give the appearance of freedom. In practice, however, they were still slaves. Daenerys could do nothing about it, since it was the only method of supporting themselves. All three cities' primary income came from the slave trade and as Daenerys outlawed it, Meereen was suffering.

Worst of all, Astapor and Yunkai had reinstituted slavery the moment she left, the former slaves gleeful at the prospect of becoming masters. Daenerys could hardly keep Meereen from starving, let alone force freedom down their throats. _How am I going to break this Meereenese Knot? _Trapped in Slaver's Bay, she might never be able to claim the Iron Throne.

Daenerys observed the nobles and former slaves. Most told her precisely what they felt she wanted to hear, but she was certain at least a few of them belonged to the Sons of the Harpy. Her Unsullied were unmatched on the battlefield, but had little clue how to fight against sneak attacks. Several had already been killed and she had little clue as to whom was responsible.

Daario, whom she'd recently taken as a lover, suggested slaughtering all the nobles, down to the last child. Daenerys balked at that, refusing to punish the innocent, but she had yet to come up with an alternative. Having a few put to the question had accomplished nothing.

"Follow me," Daenerys instructed her guards. Strong Belwas and her bloodriders traded tales of combat, arguing over who was the superior fighter. She marched down the Pyramid, intent on at least seeing her dragons. Drogon was her favorite, but all three were her children, and more precious to her than anyone.

As she walked through the streets, even some former slaves gave her hateful glares. No one dared to act openly, but Daenerys felt the stares nonetheless. Her bloodriders looked ready to repay their scorn with violence and it took a gentle shake of the head to dissuade them. Slaughtering people for their opinions would alienate what allies she possessed.

Daenerys looked up to see one of her dragons in the sky. At such a distance, she couldn't tell which one it was. All three could be ridden and were of fighting size, though still vulnerable to spears and especially scorpions. Daenerys didn't think it wise to use them in combat.

_Just use the dragons to kill them all! _A vicious voice echoed in Daenerys' head. It was a more tempting prospect every day. They were cowards skulking in the night, killing freed sullies and her Unsullied, then pretending to be loyal servants.

However strong the temptation to kill all the nobles, Daenerys knew she had to resist. She was a liberator, not someone who replaced one tyrant with another. And things would improve over time. Change was always difficult.

Twenty of her Unsullied stood guard over the dragon pits. Even if her children had grown large enough to look after themselves, a mother always worried. Without a word, they allowed her to pass, staring at her with grateful faces. "Thank you all for protecting them," Daenerys smiled, making sure they knew of her gratitude.

Drogon was the biggest of all, his black scales visible from the moment Daenerys entered the fighting pits. Viserion curled himself around the stadium seats, gulping down a dead horse. Daenerys turned around and instructed her bodyguards to stay back. With their continued growth, her children were no longer so accepting of strangers.

Rheagal circled the stadium, disappearing from Daenerys' sight every few moments. A brief thud told her he had landed inside, but despite his considerable size, she could not locate him. He made no further sounds, hiding himself from his mother's view.

Daenerys approached Drogon until she stood only a few feet away, watching him eat a pair of human corpses. Bodies of people and animals piled up quickly and dragons required a large amount of food. It appeared an easy way to dispose of them. _My sun and stars. . . _She grieved for Khal Drogo, even after so much time. She grieved for Jorah, a noble warrior who saved her from the Usurper's assassin.

She reached out to touch Drogon, only for him to roar mere inches away from her face. Daenerys jumped back and fell into the dirt, momentarily terrified her child would harm her. Rheagal jumped to her defense, while Viserion observed with seeming indifference. Apparently satisfied his message had been received, Drogon resumed eating the dead horse.

"Dragons are not pets, Khalessi," Bennero reminded, moving forward toward Drogon with his hand raised. His eyes glowed red for a brief period. Drogon roared, but after a few moments, calmed.

"How did you do that?" Daenerys demanded.

"Dragons are very intelligent, perhaps more intelligent than humans in their own way. You are their mother, which they know, but a dragon is not a slave."

"Thank you." Daenerys didn't think any of her dragons would harm her, but as they grew, they became more rebellious.

"Only one rider has ever been bonded to a single dragon. Possessing a bond with three at once is something none of your ancestors were ever able to accomplish.

That night, her sleep was interrupted by Strong Belwas and Grey Worm screaming at her bloodriders, demanding to be let into her chambers. With a groan, Daenerys pulled herself out of Daario's arms and got dressed as quickly as she was able. _This better be important. _"What is the meaning of this?" Daenerys crossed her arms, hoping she was wrong.

"Khalessi. . . there has been another attack!" Belwas declared, scars still visible in the dim light.

"How many have been killed?" Daenerys kept her voice calm but fury bubbled within her.

"Seventeen Unsullied have been ambushed, Khalessi, and thirty have been injured." Grey Worm kept his voice even as he always did.

"I've been listening in on those in court." Missandei contributed. "No one has bragged about taking part, but many seem confident in their success."

"Khalessi, do you recall the discussion we've had previously?" Daario grinned, playing around with his knife. "Perhaps now it is time to revisit it."

"The answer is still no." Killing the nobles became more tempting with the constant attacks, however. Daenerys had yet to harm any of the child hostages she had taken to force their compliance. She couldn't punish them for the possible crimes of their parents.

"What do you want us to do, Khalessi?" Grey Worm inquired, loyal as always.

"From now on, none of the Unsullied are to travel anywhere alone. They travel in groups. Daario, I trust your men can work behind the scenes and gather information."

"I'm at your command." Daario bowed, eyes glinting dangerously. "None of your enemies will long survive."

"I will not concede anything to them. They think to intimidate me, to convince me to reopen the fighting pits and allow slavery once again. They are wrong." Daenerys considered her options. The Unsullied were excellent fighters, but possessed minimal skill at finding hidden enemies. Daario's Second Sons would have to do the job.

"Khalessi, there is someone in the city who is said to see the future." Belwas suggested. "Perhaps you could visit her."

"Nonsense and trickery, nothing more." Daario sneered.

"Thank you for your advice." Daenerys gave a slight nod. However, she had little to lose and a possible gain to be made. "Perhaps we can do that now."

"Well, I've never been able to deny a beautiful woman what she desires. I will escort you there." Belwas and her bloodriders insisted on coming along as well.

"Who is this person who claims to see the future?" Daenerys knew magic existed, else her dragons would not have been born. Someone who could see what was to come, however. . . many were either frauds or fools. Was she desperate enough to use such a tactic?

"She claims to serve the Lord of Light," Daario appeared convinced, putting his arms around her. Daenerys removed herself from his grip, not wanting such a display during a serious situation.

"Then perhaps I should see her after all." The alternative was to murder children, something Daenerys wished to avoid unless there was no other option. _I am the blood of the dragon. _She would prevail in Slaver's Bay, one way or another. "I trust you know the way."

"No harm will come to you so long as I draw breath," Strong Belwas proclaimed. Daario refused to come along, which her bloodriders appeared ready to kill him for. Only a slight tinge of nervousness penetrated his otherwise confident demeanor.

Daenerys kept her pace quiet, though so many surrounding her would attract attention. Not everyone was asleep and she knew some of those who swore loyalty spied for the Sons of the Harpy. Even Strong Belwas remained quiet, eyes searching in the dark for possible enemies.

Even at night, Meereen was bright, torches lighting the main roads. A few sounds could be heard among those who did not dare to conduct their business while the sun stayed aloft. Daenerys saw no need to cover up, not with sweat pooling up on her skin. Her bloodriders muttered about the use of magic, but did not attempt to dissuade her.

_I hope this will get me somewhere, _Daenerys had yet to discover how to untangle the Meereenese knot and she still had Yunkai and Astapor to regain control of. Destroying slavery and regaining her rightful throne sometimes appeared too great a burden for a single woman.

"It is here, Khalessi." Strong Belwas pointed to a hut with a small torch inside. Daenerys sniffed, unsure if she had been given the correct directions. However, a woman with red eyes appeared before a word was uttered.

"A pleasure to see you at last, Mother of Dragons," She greeted. Her bloodriders moved forward, but she gave them only an amused smile. "My name is Kinvara, servant of the Lord of Light. I knew you would arrive soon."

"Thank you for taking the trouble to speak with me." The woman possessed a strong aura about her.

"Come into my humble home and we will find the answers you seek." Kinvara gestured for Daenerys to follow. She found herself almost compelled to follow the woman's instructions. Daenerys pushed past the beads while those who accompanied her studied Kinvara for any danger. Her home possessed only a single table with a flame at the center. She saw a few shapes within it, but could not make them out.

"I am. . . at a crossroads," Daenerys safe around the woman, even if she knew better than to lower her guard. "I know I'm destined to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but I'm unsure what to do next. I want to know my future."

"Be cautious, Mother of Dragons." Kinvara sat down and gestured for Daenerys to sit in the chair next to hers. "Many wish to know their futures, but few are prepared for what they hear." Her eyes stared into the flames. "This will take some time, but I require patience." She whispered in a language Daenerys couldn't understand, stroking her palm.

"How long is this going to take?" Daenerys felt her skepticism return.

"You don't believe, do you?" Kinvara let her go and searched through the flames. "But I know you've been told you are barren, that your dragons are the only children you will ever have." Daenerys' eyes widened.

"How did you know that?" Daenerys jumped out of her chair, forcing back her fear. Even with her bloodriders outside, she no longer felt safe in the woman's presence.

"The Lord of Light sees many things, Daenerys." The flames grew until they nearly reached the roof. "And my powers grow as the long night approaches. You will play a role in the war to come. That much I see."

"What else do you see?" Daenerys attempted to contain her eagerness. She spoke in a similar way to Bennero, who told her every day she was destined to destroy the plague of slavery.

Kinvara did not give an immediate answer. She moved from the flames to Daenerys' palms, studying them from every angle, muttering to herself. "Interesting, most interesting." She paused for a few more moments before speaking. "There is a seed of darkness within you, waiting for the opportunity to sprout. You can achieve great things, perhaps." Kinvara's face turned from neutral to frightened.

"What do you mean?" Daenerys wanted more. She was supposed to be able to tell the future, but Kinvara told little she did not already know. _A seed of darkness?! Ridiculous! _She wanted to bring justice to the world, not a new tyranny.

"That is all I am able to tell you, Mother of Dragons." Kinvara backed away. "I apologize for being unable to give you more."

"There's more you want to say. Out with it!" Daenerys spoke in a commanding tone. She'd learned through her experience with court politics when someone held back the truth.

"Some things are best left unsaid, Khalessi." Kinvara turned her head away.

"If there is something I need to know, some peril I need to avoid, I demand you tell me!"

"I know what you want of me. You want me to tell you there is a great destiny ahead."

"I want to know the truth."

"Well, take this for what little good it will do you." Kinvara closed her eyes and shuddered. "When I look upon you, Daenerys Targaryen, I see a great hand reaching across the land. That hand is your hand. And I hear sounds, the sounds of millions calling your name."

"My followers?"

"Your victims."


	26. Corruption

Well, I see at least some people got the Babylon 5 reference. Whether Daenerys ultimately follows the same path. . . I haven't decided on that one yet. Not that I have any objections about a mad Queen, but I've always felt it was too rushed in the TV series.

XXXXX

"You must act, Your Grace!" The High Septon demanded. "Your allies are speaking heresy in the streets, converting people away from the true faith!"

"What do you want me to do about it, fatso?" Matthew rolled his eyes. The High Septon was so enormous, Matthew could feel each step echoing on the stone floor. He had to weigh close to thirty stone, and visibly sweated as he walked. _Right, we've still got this High Septon, not the Sparrow. _

"Fatso?" The High Septon fumed. "I have been the High Septon for fifteen years! I am the Seven's chosen representative!"

"Yes, I understand that's a heavy burden for you," Matthew couldn't resist the quip. "But again, what do you want me to do?"

"Throw them into the black cells! Have them punished for their heresy!"

"I've listened to them too, but I'm not about to start a religious conflict. Under the King's Law, they are free to speak, so long as no violence takes place." Matthew narrowed his eyes. "Anyone who calls for massacring unbelievers or any form of violence against either party will be severely punished. Do I make myself clear?" Matthew doubted many would listen, but he was not Cersei.

"Your Grace, you would allow such things to take place within the city?" The High Septon's chins juggled.

"I am a believer in the Seven, but after the continent was torn apart, I don't intend to allow more fighting." Matthew approached the High Septon. "Make it clear to all your Septons no advocating for violence will be tolerated."

"As. . . as you wish, Your Grace," The High Septon scowled and marched off. Matthew had to resist the urge to laugh at his giant stomach shaking.

_I'd better make that clear to everyone. _Matthew could sense trouble ahead. No matter how many orders he gave, he had the feeling they would see at least the beginnings of a religious war. _Seems nothing I do makes a damn bit of difference in changing Westeros. _

"Your Grace, was your meeting with the High Septon productive?" Swann inquired. "We cannot have the city tear itself apart."

"Be sure to let everyone know what the consequences of attempting anything will be." Matthew allowed his Kingsguard to argue with him, at least Barristan Selmy and Balon Swann. Jaime was technically supposed to be with them, but was too often occupied with other duties. _Yes, like sleeping with Cersei. _Even after two years in Westeros, Matthew cringed at the thought of their relationship. He felt a tremble from Joffrey as well.

"Your Grace, there are those who will not listen," Barristan lowered his head. "With due respect, Your Grace, perhaps it might be a good idea to restrict their efforts to convert."

"Remind me: while the Seven is the dominant religion here, do we do anything to restrict others?"

"At the present time, Your Grace, no, but those who follow this Lord of Light. . ."

"Hence why I'll be giving them the same warning." Under no circumstances would he rearm the Faith Militant. It was one thing Maegor did right, anyway.

Stannis had proved to be a valuable partner, both against Robb and the corruption infesting King's Landing. Matthew looked out to see the beginnings of a sewer system being constructed. He'd hoped to make accessible for everyone the kind of plumbing those in the Red Keep had. Such a project would take years, but with the war winding down, he would have time.

"Why are you here?" Matthew questioned Melisandre when she approached him. "I'd have expected you to be with Stannis."

"Stannis does not currently need my assistance to do his duty," Melisandre refused to give a direct answer. "And he is in less danger than you are." Fearful faces broke out among the Kingsguard, even Barristan.

"I trust you and your followers know what will happen if anyone starts considering attacking non-believers." Matthew began to think bringing her along to King's Landing was a bad idea.

"You would leave your subjects blind to the truth?" Melisandre turned her head.

"Truth is subjective. Do all Red Priests agree on the Lord of Light's interpretations?"

"The Lord of Light is all-knowing, but we are not. I read the messages he sends me, and act to serve his will."

"It's my will you need to be concerned about right now. Do not test me on this. I've already had to lecture that tub of lard inside the sanctuary." Melisandre revealed no emotional reaction but nodded her head.

Matthew felt hundreds of stares against him, although he suspected many were looking at the Red Priest instead. Her beauty, combined with her supposed powers, meant few could keep their eyes off her. _For all I know, the Gods really do exist in Westeros, although we're probably more like playthings to them. _

"You're hoping to use my powers for your benefit," Melisandre spoke.

"Well, I can't say it hasn't crossed my mind." He'd already done so more than once. "However, I'd rather not have it be said that I'm a puppet on my own throne."

"If it's necessary, you'll merely have to ask. My powers grow as our threat approaches." Almost as many stares were visible inside the Red Keep. Ladies whispered among themselves, while several men held their hands on swords. "Do not worry, Matthew. I can keep you safe far more effectively than your Kingsguard."

"Stop calling me that." Matthew whispered, not wanting anyone to know who he really was. He'd already considered confessing to Tyrion to be a mistake, but it had been driving mad at that point. Either the Kingsguard hadn't heard her or pretended they didn't.

He had many questions for Melisandre, but did not dare to ask them in the presence of others. _Fighting a war is easier than politics. _Matthew still had Daenerys to prepare for, but that at least was in the future.

And now there was Oberyn to negotiate with. "This is going to be fun." Matthew rolled his eyes. Melisandre offered to look after him, but he opted for Barristan instead. He didn't trust the Red Viper not to try and slit his throat. Matthew opened the door and announced. "Lord Oberyn, a pleasure to see you again."

"Glad to see you finally show up after I've been waiting for an hour." Matthew saw no sign of his paramour.

"I expected Ellaria to be here." Or at least Arianne.

"However much I love her, this is something personal." Oberyn stood up to his full height. "My brother wished to handle the negotiations, but his health does not permit much travel."

"He has my hopes for a full recovery." Matthew sat down. "Now shall we get down to business?

"How long will this wedding take to arrange? My niece is eager to have a husband. Few women are still maidens at her age."

"Oh, we both know she isn't a maiden." Matthew flashed a knowing smirk. "Far fewer women are than is often perceived, especially in Dorne, where passion is freer. As for marriage, there's been a change of plans. Arianne, however lovely, isn't going to be Queen."

"So in other words, your proposal was a lie?" Oberyn's eyes glinted.

"Oh, I meant it when I first sent the proposal," Matthew admitted. "Unfortunately, the idea wasn't working out and my advisors convinced me it was an unwise decision."

"Are you aware of the kind of insult this represents?" Oberyn stormed to his feet. For a moment, Matthew anticipated him pulling a weapon, but he merely pointed an accusing finger. "My family will not tolerate insults!"

"Let us speak plainly: you don't want me to marry your niece." Matthew folded his hands. "Oh, I'm sure you'll make a giant fuss and tell the world the King doesn't keep his promises, but I'm aware of the bad blood between our families."

"This was your proposal, not mine. I arrived to ensure you fulfilled your part of the bargain."

"No, you came to meet me in person and enact vengeance on those you believe have wronged you."

"You've misjudged me, Your Grace." Oberyn spoke calmly but Matthew had no difficulty noticing the fury within him.

"Have I? You mean to tell me you've forgotten what happened to your sister? Raped in her own bed with the blood of her babe still on his hands." Oberyn's face went purple. "You hold both my families responsible for the crime, so don't treat me as a fool."

"You promised me Gregor Clegane." Oberyn thumped his fingers on the table.

"And Amory Lorch, provided the fool's still alive." Matthew had the feeling if he outright refused to follow through on that, Oberyn would slit his throat, Kingsguard or not. "Oh, I've every intention of giving Clegane to you. Westeros will be a better place with him dead." Sandor could do the job just as well, and possessed more self-control than his brother.

"So you admit it was Clegane who murdered her and her children. Tywin still refuses to say a word about it. He attempted to convince me Lorch acted alone and without his approval."

"I don't know what my grandfather wanted, but he's smart enough not to butcher children for no reason." Matthew shied away from thinking about what Tywin had done to Varys' birds. However necessary, he didn't want to know the details. "Westeros still suffers from the repercussions of the Mad King's actions. My father unfortunately did little to repair things, so the burden falls to me."

"Who do you intend to marry, if not my daughter?"

"Margaery Tyrell; who else?" Matthew shrugged. "I'll admit, I'm almost tempted to do what Aegon the Conqueror did and marry her as well. Your niece is too beautiful a woman for a city like this."

"I hope you're not making threats."

"Only an acknowledgement of how dangerous this city is. As the Red Viper, you're capable of looking after those you care about. I've spent most of my life in this shithole, and know it better than anyone."

**"He's a threat to you, to us!" **Joffrey warned. **"Look at him; he's already plotting your death! Kill him, send a message that you are not to be crossed!"**

_Excellent idea if I wanted to breach every rule of hospitality. _Matthew was forced to admit Joffrey had a point. Oberyn was not going to be satisfied with a crumb. Nor could he completely rule out having him quietly killed, should it prove necessary.

"If anyone happens to me, the full might of Dorne will march on King's Landing."

"By the Gods, how could I survive?" Matthew deadpanned. "I know I've beaten the full might of the Reach, and the North, and the Riverlands, and the Vale, but Dorne's a whole different kind of threat."

"Thanks to those new toys of yours, but they will do you little good against Sunspear, even if the stories are true."

Matthew didn't consider Dorne a short-term threat, though they would complicate things when Daenerys arrived. "I'm sure you've got all sorts of threats planned, so let's speed things along. You'll have your sister's killers. Gregor's already on his way to King's Landing, and the man isn't burdened with an abundance of brains.

"And Arianne?"

"We both know betrothals are frequently broken. However, as both of you have come all this way, I'd hate to see such effort made for nothing. I have an alternate proposal."

"You believe this will make up for such an insult?"

"I doubt you could hate us anymore than you already do." Matthew waved his hand. "My proposal is a match between Arianne and my brother, Tommen. He's young, but he's decent. Why he is, living in a city like this, I do not know, but he had held onto his morality."

"So you offer Arianne a chance to become Queen, then snatch it away, and offer up your brother instead?" Oberyn crossed his arms.

"I expect you want both an advantageous match and one where your niece will not be mistreated. Am I correct? Some family members would be indifferent, but not you."

"Correct. I have lost a sister, a niece, and a nephew already, courtesy of your family. I will not be quick to put another in your grasp."

"Glad to see you moved past your initial disappointment." Matthew caught him.

"I am willing to entertain the possibility. I am unwilling to agree to it just yet. My brother will need to consent to the match as well."

"Understood. Such things take time and I'm sure you wish to see what sort of man my brother is. Do give Arianne my apologies."

"I will get word to my brother, see if he is willing to overlook this. . . snub." Oberyn fixed Matthew with his most dangerous stare. "He will be grateful to see Gregor Clegane at least get justice."

"Most of Westeros would agree with you." Matthew folded his hands. "But I am aware of how much you hate both my respective families. While you are in King's Landing, I expect you to behave yourself. I know why you're called the Red Viper."

"I won't cause any trouble, so long as you don't cause me any." Oberyn concluded the negotiations. "Just remember what will happen if you don't fulfill your promises. I know better than to take the word of a Lannister." Matthew frowned. "Yes, I know who your parents really are, even if you do not." He wore an amused smirk. "Or do you?"

"I thought you too intelligent to be taken in by such lies." Matthew listened to Joffrey scream in his head. Rubbing his temples, he added: "I don't advise you to spread that falsehood."

"I'll behave. . . for now."

XXXXX

"How many this time?" Daenerys questioned her advisers.

"Four dead, seven wounded," Grey Worm informed, holding his helmet. "In return, we killed eleven Sons of the Harpy and captured eight others. They are being questioned now."

"Khalessi, we have Astapor and Yunkai marching on us," Belwas reminded. "We cannot afford to have traitors within our ranks. They will open the gate, and kill us all, no matter how your Unsullied try to secure them."

"I've still got my dragons," Daenerys defended. Viserys had told her a single dragon could wipe out an entire army. She had three, all of whom grew bigger by the day.

"Dragons alone do not win wars," Daario reminded. "To win against enemies outside, we must first defeat them within our walls."

"I know." Daenerys debated with herself. Much as she did not wish to harm her child hostages, her enemies were leaving her with few other options. "How many men do we have?"

"Several thousand freedmen, the Second Sons, and your Unsullied," Belwas announced. "Dragons are powerful, but cannot win wars by themselves. I do not think you would want to put your children in unnecessary danger."

"Ships from Volantis are already on the way," Daario added. "We will receive no food from outside."

"I'm well aware of that." Daenerys kept frustration out of her voice. The problems never ended. Much of the surrounding farmland had been burned and while she still ate well, most of her subjects did not.

"All the former slavers are our enemy," Daario continued to push. "Even with your dragons, we cannot fight against enemies from outside and within."

"I know." Daenerys was tempted to give them what they wanted, to reopen the fighting pits. Perhaps it could give them at least momentary peace. . . but it wouldn't last. If she gave in once, it would send a symbol of weakness to their enemies, and her work would soon be undone.

"Doing the right thing is never easy, else we'd all do it," Beenero cautioned. "The Sons of the Harpy are cowards, striking in the dark. We are cutting them out, little by little. I have seen in the flames they will not succeed."

"You're a naïve idiot," Daario sneered. "You think attempting to show restraint will get the Queen anywhere?"

"On the contrary, I've seen more than you have," Beenero remarked. "I've seen how a generation of oppressed people become the new oppressors. Khalessi, you have great power, but there is a time to use it, and a time to show restraint."

"Restraint has gotten me nothing!" Daenerys screamed, wishing her children were grown. She could burn all of them, make them pay for spurning her leniency. _No. I will not be Queen of the ashes. _"But they believe my threats meaningless. How many children do we have hostage?"

"Two hundred and forty-one, Khalessi," Strong Belwas informed.

"Select twenty of them for execution." Each word tasted bitter in Daenerys' mouth. Her heart felt like shattering at the order.

"At once, Khalessi," Daario smiled.

"Khalessi, do not let the words of a sellsword and brigand sway you," Beenero pleaded. "You cannot trust a word he says. He cares only for your title, not for you."

Daenerys knew it, at least on some level. Daario wasn't suitable, but. . . she loved his swagger, his confidence, and he was the first man she'd had since Drogo. "Once they are selected, make their execution quick. Do not draw it out, else you will find yourself next to suffer my retribution." It eased her conscience, but only a little.

"Khalessi," Beenero made one last attempt.

"Enough." Her voice came out as a squeak. Daario and Grey Worm went out to fulfill her orders. Daenerys' legs weakened, shaking underneath her. Belwas gripped her hand to keep her from falling.

_ What else am I supposed to do? _Daenerys screamed at herself. She would not let slavery return, nor would she toss aside those who pledged themselves to her. It would be an unforgivable betrayal of everything she stood for.

Grey Worm returned with twenty children, ranging in age from five to thirteen. Boys and girls stared at Daenerys with terrified faces. _If I look back, I am lost. _"Where shall we perform them, Mhysa?" Grey Worm questioned.

Daenerys debated whether to make the executions private or public. Each had their merits and dangers. Beenero stared at her with disapproval, but she ignored it. "Have them beheaded in the dungeons. I trust you know people who can do so cleanly." A few of the children struggled against their captors, but lacked the strength to do anything else. Most were frozen in fear.

"Khalessi, are you sure this will not simply send a message of weakness?" Daario turned her head.

"Shut up, sellsword." Belwas' hand went to his blade. Daario attempted to appear unfazed, but Daenerys saw fear in his eyes.

"You have your orders," Daenerys made it clear her mind would not be changed. "They are to be executed but quickly. I know the slavers would drag things out were our positions reversed. However, I will not be another tyrant."

One child broke away and ran, a boy of perhaps twelve. He sprinted for perhaps thirty feet before another Unsullied caught him. Daenerys kept her face cold, not revealing the heartbreak within. Each one were led into the prisons, their attempts to fight futile.

"Khalessi, you do not have to witness such a spectacle." Beenero placed a hand on her shoulder.

"If I am to sentence them to die, I owe it to myself to watch their last moments." Daenerys' voice lowered. A part of her wanted to retract the order, but she had been given no other choice. Benevolence would only be considered weakness. "I know you do not approve. Neither do I. But I am a dragon, and dragons do not cower."

_"My followers?"_

_ "Your victims." _

_No, I will not be the monster Kinvara predicts. _The first of the children were placed on the chopping block. An Unsullied gripped a sword, removing her head with a single blow. Daenerys cringed at the blood, hoping she would never have to do this again.

None of the children made any further attempts to resist. Two, three, four, five. . . not a single stroke went out of place. One of the heads rolled near Daenerys' feet. _If I look back, I am lost. _She looked over her companions to see their reactions. Daario was indifferent, as were her bloodriders, but Strong Belwas was somber and even Grey Worm did not appear to enjoy the order.

Daenerys prayed for it to end, tears going down her eyes. By the time the last child was beheaded, she sank into Beenero's arms. "Well, that ought to send a message." Daario grinned, wiping imaginary dirt of his hands. "I'd love to see the look on the parent's faces when they learn."

She wanted to scream at him, but did not possess the strength. Beenero let her go once he was certain Daenerys could stand on her own. He whispered a prayer in a language she could not understand, kneeling down and placing a hand on each body. Daario merely sneered in response.

"Have the bodies fed to my children." It was an easy way to dispose of corpses and her dragons required a lot of food, especially at their current size.

"I hope you get the results you hope for." From the look of Beenero's face, he didn't think so.

_ So do I. _"Be sure the former slavers know of this punishment," Daenerys ordered. "They will no longer exist in my city, killing with impunity. For every Unsullied or freedmen killed, one child of the Masters will also die." _This is necessary. It'll save more lives in the long run. _Daenerys could convince herself. . . at times.

XXXXX

"You told me your efforts to clean up corruption in King's Landing were effective." Stannis gave Matthew a cold stare. "Yet I have found several Gold Cloaks are attempting a new enterprise now that Slynt has been removed from his position."

"I said I'm doing everything in my power to improve things." Matthew crossed his arms. "Between fighting a war, training an army, and the usual quarrels in court, I haven't had the time to personally inspect every member of the Gold Cloaks. If I hung everyone who took a bribe, we'd hardly have any men left."

"And do you call murdering or threatening to murder those unwilling to pay 'fees' for their protection?" Stannis waved documents in front of his face.

"Let me see those." Matthew snatched them out of his hands. He looked through each page, reading about the amount of money stolen, people found with their throats slit, along with alleged rapes. "How long have you been working on this?"

"Almost a moon's turn. I've spoken with many witnesses under condition of anonymity. Few are willing to speak openly."

"I suppose in Westeros, my word is law, so I wouldn't have to bother with the formalities of a trial."

**"Excellent idea!" **Joffrey spoke. **"There's only one thing your inferiors understand!" **

"You're sure they're guilty of these crimes?" Matthew didn't like sending innocent men to their deaths, even if there was little way to avoid it in Westeros.

"I have launched an extensive investigation, and all men are individuals I knew before Jon Arryn's death. Do you think so little of me as to knowingly sentence innocent men to death?"

"Perhaps this is an opportunity for all of us," Melisandre spoke up for the first time. "We can give an offering to the Lord of Light."

"Have you lost your mind?" Matthew snapped. "I'm not about to make religious tensions in King's Landing worse!"

"You will need his help in the war to come, Matthew." Melisandre turned her head. "The corrupt will atone for their deeds and be accepted by Him in the afterlife."

"It would be impossible to keep such a thing secret," Stannis cautioned.

"I intend to execute them, but I will not make a religious spectacle!" Matthew mused on whether the Gold Cloaks were necessary any longer. His personal army grew by the day, men with few other opportunities loyal to him alone.

Melisandre held Matthew's hands in her own. They felt far warmer than human hands had any right to be. He wanted to pull away, but. . . Matthew found the touch reassuring, welcoming. Energy flowed from Melisandre to him.

**"Every time you've shown mercy, it's made things worse for you," **Joffrey persuaded. **"You hesitated to kill Varys, and now he works against you. The smallfolk you attempted to help tried to kill you. Saving Stark's life didn't prevent a thing. It only makes you appear weak. Show them you are not to be trifled with!" **

Matthew looked away, attempting to push Joffrey and Melisandre out of his head. _He watched in horror as Daenerys flew on Drogon, burning thousands of people to death in a single pass. The city's gates were sealed, its population defenseless. Men, women, children. . . all died underneath the boot of the dragon queen. _

_ A pair of ice blue eyes in the cold, possessed by a man with almost supernatural looks. His lips sealed, he looked upon hundreds of corpses surrounding him and raised his arms. Matthew watched, frozen in place, as his eyes turned toward him . . . _

_ A city made of ice, towers higher than anything in Westeros. . ._

Image after image flooded Matthew's brain, too fast for him to take in their meaning. He clutched his head, begging for it to stop, jumping away from Melisandre and Stannis. Joffrey's laughter echoed, his loved ones in the United States becoming little more than a distant memory.

"Perhaps you should have been more careful." Matthew could faintly hear Stannis' voice.

"I opened his eyes to the truth," Melisandre spoke and knelt in front of him.

"Were those. . . the future?" Matthew found himself on his hands and knees. He expected Daenerys destroying King's Landing, at least, was real. Matthew wasn't sure about the others.

"Now do you understand?" Melisandre assisted him to his feet.

"Not really. . ." Matthew rubbed his temples.

"The Lord of Light has chosen you for a reason. It will be difficult, you will suffer greatly, and many will die, but we will succeed. All three of us."

"All this because I'm unwilling to indulge in human sacrifice?" With his head clearing, Matthew doubted what she said could be taken at face value.

"Sacrifices will be necessary. If by ending one life, you would save millions, would you do it?"

"Yes." Which included his own. _What the hell happened to me?_ "I know what war requires." Politics was another matter.

"It wasn't a pleasant experience, I'm sure, but you've had your eyes opened, just as I have," Stannis spoke. "Not long ago, I cared for little but my crown. I had only intended to negotiate your surrender and failing that, removing you as a threat."

"I can imagine the method." Dying from Melisandre's shadow babies did not sound pleasant.

"It was. . . there are no words to describe it. Whether any Gods exist, I cannot say, but I saw what laid beyond the Wall. Such a threat must be stopped, and I will do so, even if I have to work with the likes of you."

"You know, I could have you executed for this," Matthew snarled, but it lacked strength.

"If it serves the Lord of Light and his messenger, I will gladly give up my life."

"You're a piece of work, all right." Matthew stumbled. He wished his Kingsguard had not been stationed outside, but against the likes of Melisandre, he doubted it would have done much good. "First you say Stannis is Azor Ahai, now it's me. Who are you going to claim next?"

"Whether I am Azor Ahai or not, there is a doom coming for us all," Stannis ground his teeth. "Though you do not have Joffrey's mind, you have his appearance."

"I'm just as thrilled about it as you." Matthew stumbled. _What the hell did she do to me? _He wanted to believe it was an illusion, a trick. Melisandre had to have been manipulating his fears. "Your Lord of Light never does things the easy way, does he?"

"The most dangerous tasks are given to his most capable servants," Melisandre spoke. "You know what's necessary, even if you won't admit it."

_I'm tired of people playing with my head. _Westeros didn't follow the rules he was used to. And at least some of Melisandre's abilities were genuine. It would lead to problems in the future, but life rarely offered tidy solutions. "What would this. . . sacrifice give me?"

"Health. Power. Protection from the false friend. Food for the smallfolk."

"In other words, you don't know." Matthew gripped the wall. "They will be sentenced to die by burning, but this will not be a religious ceremony. You will not attend, nor will there be any visible symbols of your God."

"He is all that stands between us and the Long Night, but I will obey your orders."

Matthew questioned why he bothered trying to improve things. _I'll be able to do that once all this is over. Until then. . . _he'd take whatever steps necessary to stop the Song of Ice and Fire. _I wanted to change Westeros, but instead, it's changing me. _

"As King, you will be required to make many difficult decisions," Stannis advised. "There is no joy to be found in leadership, unless you're a man who cares for nothing but power."

"Thanks." Matthew already knew that and didn't enjoy being reminded. He marched out of the room, leaving Stannis and Melisandre to speak among themselves.

"Your Grace!" A page ran up to him, trembling. "Lady Sansa. . . she's awake."

XXXXX

It'll be a small miracle if Matthew doesn't go insane after all this, assuming those visions weren't fabrications. For all their antipathy for one another, he and Daenerys have a lot in common.


	27. What do you want?

Jon climbed out of bed, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his sword. He turned around, half expecting to see Ygritte beside him before remembering it was a dream. Ygritte, who he had seen die, whom he had cremated as she asked.

Horns blew outside, the distant sounds of battle ringing through his ears. Mance Rayder had assaulted the Wall for seven days and nights, but had yet to breach it. Jon had momentarily feared he possessed the Horn of Winter, which could supposedly bring the Wall down, but if he had the ability, Mance would have already used it.

It was the black of night outside, bitter cold and overcast. Jon looked up at the Wall, grateful at least some Northmen had assembled to defend it. If not for them, the Wall would have already fallen. However, he had received no further news from Winterfell regarding reinforcements. Letters he had sent were unanswered.

Knowing he would soon have to go to his post regardless, Jon put on his chain mail and marched up the Wall's one hundred feet. Only a handful of stars could be seen through the clouds. Each step was a careful one, for any slip had the potential to be deadly.

"What are you doing up here, Snow?" Dolorous Edd commented. "Decided you'd die alongside the rest of us?"

"No, I've every intention of living." Jon looked down the battlements despite the darkness. He heard nothing from Mance's army, though was certain he would attempt another night attack. "Has he tried anything?"

"A few arrows, here and there, killing the unwary. . . or those sticking their heads down." Edd pulled Jon back, pacing around to keep himself awake.

"There are worse things than Mance Rayder." Only a few rangers had survived an attack from the dead. Jon had not participated, but from the stories of survivors, there could be no doubt what it was. _When the dead walk, walls and stakes and swords mean nothing, _Mance had told him during his infiltration. _You cannot fight the dead, Jon Snow. No man knows that half as well as me. _

The breeze cut through his skin, even wearing armor and a thick coat. Jon stood still, listening intently to any signs of attack. He spotted no shadows moving in the dark, but Mance was no fool. He'd grown up in the Night's Watch and knew their tactics.

Bundles of arrows and scorpion bolts were on hand, as were piles of rocks ten feet high. Numerous barrels of oil were stacked beside them, away from the flames, although most had already been used to repel previous assaults.

"How do we fight what we can't see?" Satin worried. Most of his fellows looked down on him due to his former position as a prostitute.

"They suffer the same disadvantage," Jon reminded. Whatever Satin planned to say in response was cut off by a trumpet.

A mammoth. Beasts ten feet high at the shoulder, capable of shattering the iron gate with a few strong blows. Jon shouted orders, but those around him were already springing into action. Arrows, rocks, and scorpion bolts rained down from the Wall. While they possessed no visibility, the volley was such that at least some of them would hit something.

Mammoths roared in pain from the impacts. While few arrows could penetrate their hides, rocks were still capable of crushing their skulls. At a hundred feet, the Wall was too tall to be climbed and too thick to be battered down. The gate was a different story, especially with an enemy who possessed mammoths.

Jon grabbed a nearby bow, testing its strength. It was heavy, but manageable. Two men beside him fell victim to wildling arrows, collapsing to their knees without making a sound. "Move away from the torches!" Jon ordered. "Don't give them an easy target!" Even among the reinforcements, too many of them were green boys.

He nocked his first arrow and let it loose, not knowing if it struck a member of the Free Folk. Beneath the wall were all the wildlings come together in one great assault. Jon loosed them as quickly as he could, caring more for speed than accuracy.

Mammoths and giants had to be taken out first, else the gate would be shattered. Jon lost track of how many arrows he had loosed, his muscles aching more with each one. He only dimly registered some of his fellows giving prayers to the Old Gods.

Here and there, his fellows fell to arrows that impacted parts of the body not covered by armor.

"We keep this up, there won't be any wildlings left," Grenn cheered, clapping Jon on the shoulder.

"Yes." Jon couldn't muster up much enthusiasm about it. He'd lived with them for a period of time and found they weren't as bad as he expected. Mance was desperate to escape the Others and their army of the dead. _The way he's going, he'll add all the tribes to that army. _"Once this is over, be sure and burn all the bodies. We don't want any of them coming back."

"How long is he able to do this?" Green responded. "We've got the Wall, Northern reinforcements, and all he has is 100 different tribes who all fight each other!"

"So long as there's a single man or women to fight," Jon cautioned. What few of them appeared to understand was what the Free Folk were running from. The enemy beyond the Wall had no mercy, and would take no prisoners. This would not be like previous occasions, for this was a matter of survival to them. _Perhaps we can form a truce. _It was extremely unlikely anyone would accept it, though.

Fighting continued well into the night. The steel gate was damaged, but neither mammoths nor giants were able to survive long before boulders and scorpions took them down. Jon lost track of how many defenders had fallen, mostly Northmen. Those who served on the Wall numbered too few to matter much.

Jon felt the hateful glare of Alliser Thorne against the back of his neck. When he'd left the wildlings, the man had wanted to hang him as a traitor, and only the arrival of Northern reinforcements convinced him it was a bad idea. "You're still alive, Lord Snow." He snarled at him.

"Sorry to disappoint you." Jon saw no need to show him any respect. With Mormont dead, Alliser would surely intend to become the new Lord Commander.

"Have your fun now, Snow, but to me, you're still nothing more than a traitor." He stormed off. Jon knew he could defend himself if it came to it, and there was a strong chance none of them would survive the coming battle.

Once the sun rose, Mance Rayder's forces retreated. Jon wondered how many of them had fell, and how many would rise again. He wanted to burn them, but could not afford to leave anyone vulnerable. "Got to come to his senses sometime." Edd remarked, still unscathed from the fighting. "Or perhaps not. Turning into a wight after death. . . once I die, I don't want to come back."

_Neither do I. _Jon mused over his options. A truce would be unpopular, but the continued fighting would only benefit their mutual enemy. Jon looked over at Samwell Tarly, who had stayed out of most of the fighting, although he'd been told Sam had killed an Other.

"We've got the same enemy, so can't we join forces?" Sam questioned. While not as fat as he was when he arrived, Sam was still close to twice Jon's size. "It doesn't make any sense for us to be killing each other."

"If they get through the Wall, every nearby village will burn." Jon tried to justify, although he agreed. "And we've been fighting them for thousands of years." Such a quarrel was difficult to forget.

"They call me Sam the Slayer now." Sam shook his head. "Even now, they still mock me."

"You're the first in thousands of years to kill one." Jon reassured. He'd heard the term as well, but didn't get the impression it was meant as an insult. He expected Sam had heard so many, even genuine praise sounded like mockery to him.

"Someone's coming!" He heard a voice ring out from the Wall. Jon looked toward the other side. That the man had screamed rather than blasted the horn informed him they didn't know who it was. Were they wildlings or not?

Jon climbed up to the battlement, curious as to who would be crazy enough to want to arrive. He expected they'd received all the reinforcement they were likely to. Last he'd heard, his brother had marched on King's Landing, although they hadn't yet learned the outcome.

In the distance, he spotted only two people on horses. "Wildlings?" Someone wondered.

"I don't think so," Jon leaned against the wall. Their raids on the unprotected side of the Wall had been defeated and they would not have traveled so openly. "But they don't look like rangers, either." As they got closer, Jon made out their physical appearances. One was small, and appeared as a child. The other rode in front, hand on his sword.

Both traveled on the path, something no attacker would ever do. "Keep ready for trouble, but hold fire until we've confirmed a threat." Jon ordered those next to him. Despite his age, he found himself leading the defense more often than not.

On their side of the Wall, no gates existed to preserve the Watch's neutrality. When they moved to within a hundred yards, Jon saddled a horse and rode out to meet them. He kept his weapon ready in case his instincts were untrue.

_Wait a minute. . . _They became clearer with every step. Both dismounted and approached with their hands visible. Jon made out Rodrik Cassel, his weathered face visible through his helmet. His companion was. . . "Arya!" Jon dismounted and sprinted forward, never imagining he'd see his little sister again.

Arya hugged him with all his strength, jumping into his arms and laughing. Jon twirled her around just as they'd done when they were children. Arya buried her face into his shoulder and smiled. Jon knew he could stay like that all day, but however much he wanted to, he let his little sister go.

"What are you doing here, little sister?" Jon mussed up Arya's hair. She let him go with great reluctance.

"They attacked Winterfell. . . grabbed Bran and Rickon. . ." Arya spoke so fast, Jon had difficulty keeping up. She spoke of how the Boltons took over Winterfell, how she had killed Reek, that Ramsey had gotten his hands on his brothers.

_By the Gods. . . _Tales of the Bastard of Bolton had reached even the Wall. If a tenth of them were true, Jon feared for both their lives. He wanted to march down to Winterfell and free them, ignoring the wildings and his duties.

Yet that was folly. Jon knew he still had a job to do and he couldn't travel such a long distance alone. "I'm glad to have you back." Jon laughed. She'd always been his favorite sister. He looked down at Needle. "I'm sorry you had to use it."

"I remembered your lesson: stick them with the pointy end." Arya hugged him again.

"We traveled through the catacombs to escape," Rodrik explained. "I'd always had an unpleasant feeling about the man, but I never imagined he'd violate hospitality!"

"You made it here; that's what matters, although you won't find much improvement." Jon gestured to the Wall. "They've taken heavy losses, but refuse to give up."

"Wildlings don't frighten me," Cassel declared. The trio climbed back onto their horses and trotted inside, hundreds of confused eyes looking down upon them.

Jon saw the red dragon egg inside the horse's saddle. Only for a moment, but it was unmistakable. He wanted to ask them about it, and where Arya had obtained it, but there was no time. Jon had countless questions on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked.

Two blasts emanated from the horn. Mance Rayder was attempting another attack. "Ser Rodrik, get my sister to safety," Jon ordered. "Guard her with your life and don't let her anywhere near the fighting." He didn't care how angry Arya would be, so long as she was alive. The Boltons would have to wait.

XXXXX

_Well, things are slowly coming together. _Matthew mused as he finished his breakfast. Cersei had ordered a food-taster for him, which he couldn't object to, not with the Red Viper in King's Landing. His servants dutifully took the dishes away, bowing before they retreated.

The Riverlands had surrendered in return for the Tullys keeping their position. Much as he didn't like it, Matthew considered it the lesser evil. The Freys would have been a Millistone around his neck, even if the Red Wedding hadn't taken place. Once Walder died, which wouldn't be long, they'd begin slaughtering one another.

Matthew put on his clothes over the mail armor he always wore. Varys had yet to be found and parts of the passageways were still unexplored. As always, his Kingsguard waited for him outside the door. "Excellent to see you all." Matthew nodded. He'd yet to appoint replacements for the fallen but considered himself reasonably safe around Ser Barristan and Ser Balon. "Tell me, do you know how my projects are coming along?"

"Not for certain, Your Grace, but I have been informed the rate has increased," Barristan responded politely.

"Excellent." _Expect I've reached the limit of what I can do in King's Landing. _It'd still be years before he could give his troops muskets in any significant number. Matthew still possessed a few more ideas for improvement, which he hoped would prove plausible with the infrastructure he had. According to Kevan Lannister, production had begun in the Westerlands as well.

He'd burned his designs out of fear of them being copied. Matthew hoped it wasn't too late, but there were more ideas in his head he hadn't put down on parchment. So long as things settled down for a while, he could get to work. _If. _Matthew knew there were other threats ahead, not to mention all his enemies in court. He marched through the Red Keep to Sansa's room, where two of his personal men protected the door.

"Your Grace." They both nodded and allowed him to pass.

"I'm so happy you're alive, daughter." He heard Catelyn Stark sob through the doorway.

"I made it through, Mother," Sansa responded. "The eunuch tried to kill me. . . and did kill Jeyne, but. . ."

"I'm so sorry," Catelyn continued. "We'll continue to do everything we can to protect you from the King." _Not particularly good at subtlety, is she? _Catelyn clearly hadn't spent much time in King's Landing.

"Mother, the Kingslayer saved my life. He's a man without honor, yet he intervened."

"So he was telling the truth after all." Matthew opened the door, making mother and daughter jump. Catelyn's face was one of icy courtesy while Sansa grinned at the sight of him. "Good to see you awake, Lady Sansa." Matthew gave her a genuine smile.

"Thank you for looking after me, Your Grace." Sansa bowed as best she was able. Many of her wounds were still red and ugly.

"Do try not to strain yourself." Matthew advised. "You're not fully recovered yet."

"I appreciate the concern, Your Grace." Sansa nodded. Catelyn grabbed a honey pot with intent on feeding her daughter. "Mother, thank you, but I am now capable of feeding myself."

"Your brother survived a fall from a tower. . ." Catelyn glowered at that. "And you survived numerous wounds that should have been fatal. At least one of the Gods appears to be looking after you." Matthew thought Sansa was doomed, only for her to recover. _Maybe there's something to the Blood of the First Men, after all. _

"You are most kind, Your Grace." Catelyn was all sweetness, though Matthew knew if they were alone, she'd likely attack him. "I appreciate you taking time to look after my daughter."

"I wanted to see to her good health. She's already been attacked once, and I don't intend for there to be a second occasion. How are you feeling, Lady Sansa?"

"I'm getting stronger." Sansa winced when she moved.

"Don't push things too far. You're liable to be in that bed for some time, or at least until Grand Maester Pycelle says you can leave." Sansa frowned. "It's for your own good."

"Your Grace, do I have permission to write to my other children?" Catelyn inquired. "It has been a long time since I've heard from them."

"Yes, but your letters will be monitored." Matthew agreed. He sat down on the bed and turned to Sansa. "Lady Sansa, there's something I wish to discuss with you, a way to reconcile the feud between our two families."

"Does this mean our betrothal will be restored?" Her eyes lit up.

"I'm afraid not. However, I have an alternate proposal: a marriage between you and my brother, Tommen."

"Your. . . brother, your Grace?" Sansa lowered her head in disappointment.

"Hardly without precedent. Your own mother was originally engaged to Brandon Stark before his untimely death. I know it's a bit early to make a final decision, but much blood has been shed between our families on account of a lie. I know better than most how bad blood can fester." _Case in point. _Matthew glanced over at Catelyn.

"If you think that's best." Sansa's voice turned to icy courtesy.

"My brother's a kind young man and I think you'll find a marriage to him to be pleasant. Contrary to what you read in the stories, Lady Sansa, few men and women of our status marry for love. Your parents did not, yet they grew to love each other."

"Your Grace, if I may, your father wished to join our houses." Catelyn interjected. "However, I am unsure whether the Northern Lords will accept it."

"I have every confidence Lord Bolton will have no objection." Catelyn's face darkened at the reminder they were no longer Wardens of the North. "I know it's procedure to negotiate with the family patriarch, but I believe Sansa's mature enough to do so. I'm hoping for at least a partial reconciliation after being tricked into war."

"I would at least like to meet him before I make my decision," Sansa decided. "If it is not too much trouble, Your Grace, I still feel tired."

"Understood. I'll give you time to think it over. Of course, I'll need to discuss this with my brother as well." Matthew knew Cersei wouldn't be happy but he intended to give her as few duties running the realm as possible.

"Are you sure there is no chance of a marriage between us?" Sansa sighed. "We'd be a wonderful King and Queen. We could make the continent love us."

_She's still naïve. _"Lady Sansa, being King and Queen means there is no love. You have no friends, only subjects and enemies. I saw what the crown did to my Father, and you wouldn't find it pleasant. Forget all the songs; ruling means you've got a sword at your throat." Matthew wondered if Westeros had an equivalent to the Sword of Damocles.

"This may sound like a foolish question, but. . . couldn't you change that? We could. You're the King, after all."

"Yes, but I won't reign forever." Matthew chuckled. "Assuming I don't die in battle or a knife in the dark, I could rule as long as fifty years, however unlikely that is. The institutions of Westeros have been around for far longer, and will exist long after I'm gone. And they know this. Kings give orders. They have them obeyed. It often matters less than you think." He placed a hand on her shoulders. "You've got a gentle heart, Lady Sansa, but that doesn't survive long here." Matthew was still amazed he'd survived his numerous blunders.

"Your Grace, if we cannot marry. . . then I would like to return to Winterfell. I haven't seen my younger brothers for a long time and I miss them. I. . . I even miss Arya." Sansa expressed a bitter laugh. "Not words I ever expected to say."

"Understood, Lady Sansa." Matthew didn't have a good relationship with his younger sister but he still missed her. "Much as I'd like to return you, political realities prevent me from doing so. Surely you've received letters at least."

"I have received nothing, Your Grace." Catelyn frowned. "It would take weeks for such letters to arrive and we haven't been here long."

_Right. _Even after nearly two years, Matthew occasionally overlooked how slow news traveled. "Under the circumstances, I would not like to see you travel North, in any case. Brigands still roam the lands and your family name won't prevent them from attacking you."

"When I was a child, all I ever wanted to do was see King's Landing for myself. Now that I'm here, all I wish to do is leave. Meaning no offense, Your Grace."

"Not a problem; I share the same sentiment. King's Landing might have a certain attraction, but only from the outside." Matthew got to his feet. "Take the time to consider my offer, and I hope you find my proposal acceptable as well, Lady Catelyn."

"I appreciate your efforts at making peace, Your Grace." Catelyn gave him a final bow and resumed paying attention to her daughter. Matthew decided to leave the two in peace.

_Even with an internal war, I expect the North's going to want to march on me again. _Northmen were notoriously stubborn and Robb still held a grudge. _I hope they don't force me to execute Sansa. _Nevertheless, he would do so if circumstances forced him to.

The idea of marrying Arianne to Tommen would keep Oberyn around for a period of time, as a balance between her and Sansa. If necessary, he'd allow the marriage despite how big of a target it would paint on his back. _Half the realm already wants me dead. Nothing new there. _Matthew had taken every precaution possible, and however much he hated having to rely on her, Melisandre was useful as well.

His plans to improve Westeros would have to wait. As things stood, he was going to have to fight Daenerys, likely allied with the North and Dorne, at a minimum. None of his assassins had gotten anywhere near her, despite his efforts. _And the threat lurking beyond the Wall. That reminds me; we need to start mining obsidian. _

There were many enemies to crush, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

XXXXX

"I am happy to announce a marriage between myself and Margaery Tyrell!" Joffrey stood in the Throne room, hand in hand with her. "Due to our current circumstances, the wedding will take place a Fortnight from now. I expect all of you to enjoy yourselves." Cheers rang up among the crowd. Margaery stood there, wearing a polite smile.

_Seems Loras can't be bothered to pretend. _Tyrion looked over at her older brother. Garlan wore a diplomatic smile, but Loras looked ready to run him through. The Kingsguard kept their eyes focused on him. _Anything is forgivable, provided you have enough gold. _

"I couldn't be happier to be your wife, Your Grace." Margaery widened her smile, convincing Tyrion it was fake.

"We've both got a lot of work ahead of us." Joffrey held her hands. The servants would be in charge of planning the wedding, under Cersei's eyes. Tyrion felt a slight bit of pity for anyone who had to endure his sister.

Oberyn and Arianne stood at the edge of the room, everyone else giving them a wide berth. No one wanted to give the Red Viper any excuse to shed blood. Tyrion expected he didn't care about the marriage so much as seeing them all dead. Throughout the announcement, he hadn't so much as blinked, staring at Tywin. His father hadn't bothered to respond to it.

_I hope you know what you're doing, nephew. _He wasn't technically his nephew, but Tyrion had never learned his actual name, so nephew the man remained. He'd found through his spies proposing a marriage to Tommen to both Sansa and Arianne. Tyrion wondered how long it would keep the peace. _Based on the Red Viper's looks, not long at all. _

The Throne Room gradually cleared, with only a handful of people remaining inside. Among them were Tyrion, Jaime, and Tywin. "I wish to congratulate you on your marriage." Tyrion smirked. "I'm impressed you were able to resist Arianne's charms, however."

"Oh, I can't say it was easy," Joffrey admitted. "However, it occurred to me both her and her Uncle won't be quite so susceptible to mine."

"Odd; you were of the firm belief you could win Dorne over." Tyrion wondered what sparked his abrupt change.

"Circumstances change, as you well know." Joffrey reminded Tyrion of their once-cordial relationship. He knew it was likely to be in his favor to repair it, but Tyrion could not forgive him for Shae's death.

"I trust you can restrain your antics," Tywin narrowed his eyes at Tyrion. "I will not tolerate your drunken debauchery at the King's wedding."

"I'd never dream of bringing shame to our house, Father." Tyrion glared back but he'd never been able to stand up to the likes of Tywin Lannister for long.

"See that you don't," Joffrey cautioned. "What peace there is, is fragile. We still have other enemies coming for us." He turned to Tywin. "He has expressed certain disagreements on the issue." Cersei hugged him from behind. Joffrey gently pulled himself out of her grip.

"The River Lords are already begging for loans to rebuild their destroyed lands," Tywin spoke. "Such an act will increase our leverage on them and tear them away from the Tullys."

"An alliance between us and the Tyrells will help keep the peace." Joffrey clapped his hands together. "Stannis Baratheon has agreed to help me, for all his grumbling." Tyrion was still curious as to how he accomplished it, but Joffrey remained closed mouthed. "If the Martells agree to behave, we'll be ready for what comes next." Based on his expression, Joffrey doubted it.

"We have much to do and little time to waste on idle chatter," Tywin announced.

"Absolutely." Joffrey smiled. "Uncle Jaime, you've been neglected your Kingsguard duties for too long." Jaime hastened to follow his secret son, confused as to why he was cracking down now.

_No clever quips, dear sister? _Tyrion flashed an arrogant smile. He had succeeded in cowing Cersei, at least for now. His spies kept him informed of her comings and goings. With Father around, she dared not strike at him openly. _Father's keeping his hated son safe. Perhaps I should tell him the irony. _At the least, it allowed Tyrion a private chuckle.

He spent the remainder of the day trying to find ways to mitigate Littlefinger's damage. Many of his former cronies had been replaced, but too many were still active and stealing from the royal treasury. Even so, Tyrion didn't see how they could afford Joffrey's grand ambitions. It seemed he hadn't yet given up on making Westeros. Tyrion didn't know whether to pity or envy him for it.

During the night, he missed Shae's presence. However much Tyrion told himself she'd only cared for his gold, he developed a stronger attachment to her than he'd intended. The image of her mutilated corpse rarely left his mind.

_And I am left helpless about it. _He was Master of Coin and that was all he would ever be. Tyrion's influence had disappeared the moment his father arrived, with no gratitude for everything he'd done to save the city. Despite keeping them alive, few treated him with any respect. "Why should I have expected anything else?" He spat out loud.

"Having trouble sleeping, My Lord?" He heard a voice in the darkness. Tyrion jumped over a foot, checking the door to see if it was open. "Oh, no, our discussion is a private one. Besides, there are many other ways to enter a man's chambers."

Tyrion knew it could only be one person. He reached for a dagger under his pillow, for all the good it was likely to do. "What do you want, Varys?"

"The very question I was going to ask you, My Lord." Varys moved his hands behind his back. "What do you want?" He lit a candle, allowing Tyrion to see the Spider and a pair of children carrying crossbows.

"I'm in no mood for games." Tyrion hopped out of his bed, looking for a possible escape route. If Varys was here, he doubted the eunuch wanted a pleasant conversation. "Give me one very good reason why I shouldn't scream for my guards."

"By the time you do, I and my little birds will have disappeared into the Red Keep." Varys appeared amused by his threats. "I know the passageways better than our otherworldly visitor could ever hope to." Tyrion took a few steps back, bashing his head against the stone. "Yes, My Lord, I know who he truly is."

"How did you figure it out?" Tyrion rubbed his aching head, still keeping his knife hidden. There were many days he couldn't believe it himself.

"I have seen many things, My Lord, things which you would find impossible to believe. Most would dismiss such an idea, but my mind is open to new possibilities."

"What are you doing here? I can't imagine this is a social call." If Varys told his little birds to fire, Tyrion knew he was a dead man.

"I was hoping for a civilized conversation between two men whose interests. . . possibly coincide with one another." Varys sat down in a chair, the two children lowering their crossbows a few inches.

_It's a trick. He's trying to get you to lower your guard. _Tyrion considered charging forward to stab him, but even if he made the attempt, he would be full of crossbow bolts before he traveled five feet. "Then I hope you don't mind if I pour myself a drink." Tyrion walked to his desk and poured wine into a goblet. "Would you care for some?"

"Thank you, my Lord, but no. You still have not answered my question. What do you want?"

"This is what you spend your time doing, Lord Varys? Waking people up in the middle of the night to speak riddles?"

"You seem most disheartened by the death of your lover, and as a concerned friend, I decided to check on you." Tyrion didn't buy it. They had a certain respect for one another, but were never friends.

"Fun as these games are, I prefer to conduct them on a full night of sleep." Tyrion finished off his goblet and poured himself a second.

"I've watched you for a long time, My Lord. Ever dutiful, serving your family, getting nothing in return. No, wait, I believe you did have something." Varys placed his left finger into his right palm. "You had Tysha."

"Don't you dare speak of her!" Tyrion revealed his knife before he could stop himself. The children raised their crossbows and only a raised hand from Varys stopped them from firing.

"It is most tragic what happened to her. I expect the brief time you spent with her were the happiest moments of your life."

"They were." Tyrion sheathed the knife and gripped the bedpost, taking several deep breaths. Had he been capable, he would have slit Varys' throat before taunting him about his lost love. "But what does it matter? She was a whore, nothing more. So was Shae." Tyrion's face went red with rage. "Do you intend to taunt me before you have me murdered?"

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I know the story: after a fortnight, your father found out and decided to impart a lesson on you. He. . ."

"Yes, I know what he did!" Tyrion screamed, not caring who overheard them. He approached Varys, attempting to intimidate. "If you speak her name, I swear. . ."

"I wonder how she'd feel knowing your emotions have persisted for all these years. It is rare to see them last for so long."

"She never felt anything for me. Jaime merely told me it was time I had a woman." Tyrion repeated those words every time he thought of Tysha, but it never made the hole in his heart disappear.

"No. That was merely what your father instructed him to say. Tysha loved you for who you were, dwarf and all. At one time, you meant everything to her."

"You're lying! She was. . . I was. . ." Tyrion found himself at a loss for words.

"I have found the truth to be a far more dangerous weapon in a world of lies. Your father felt you married beneath your station."

"This is a lie, a manipulation." Tyrion's voice went quiet. He prayed it wasn't true, but had the comfortable feeling it was.

"Tywin Lannister could not abide his hated son sullying the Lannister name." Varys approached him. "He wanted to ensure you never defied him again. Once it was over, she disappeared and he forgot about her."

"You've given me no reason to believe you."

"I don't expect you to. Ask your brother. Confront him about the truth. The Kingslayer carries an enormous weight from the deeds he's committed. He won't be able to hold the truth back."

"Let's assume all of this is true. Why tell me?" Tyrion was certain Varys knew about it for years. "What are you trying to accomplish?"

"There is only one goal I've had, from the time I was a boy no older than the ones standing beside me. I wish to serve the realm and only the realm." Tyrion scoffed in response to him.

"You're only interested in furthering your power."

"Our visitor could perhaps improve the realm given time, but regretfully, there is another better suited. What do you want?"

"I'm in no mood for games!" Tyrion shouted.

"Understood. What do you want?"

"Leave me alone!" Tyrion threw his wine goblet at Varys, but he made no attempt to dodge.

"What do you want?"

"Get out of here now!"

"What do you want?"

"Screw your games."

"What do you want?"

"For you to leave me in peace."

"What do you want?"

"All right, fine, you cockless bastard!" Tyrion snarled. "You want to know what I want?! What my desires are?! I want Casterly Rock, which is mine by rights! I want control of the Westerlands! I want my sister to be as miserable as she's made my life, to have everything ripped away from her! I want my father to die gasping and broken while he realizes his hated son is the one to carry on his legacy! I want the power and respect I have earned! I want. . . what does it matter what I want?! Are you satisfied, eunuch? Does that answer your question?" Tyrion paced around in a fury, all the rage he'd kept suppressed for years bubbling to the surface.

"Yes, it does. And given time, you'll be able to obtain everything you want. With my assistance of course."

"Oh, I am sure." Tyrion fumed but no longer had the energy to fight. "But it doesn't matter what I want. My dear father and sister will ensure I never have it."

"For now, but there is a way to ensure your desires are fulfilled." Varys dropped a small bottle into Tyrion's hand.

"You want me to kill them." Tyrion knew the vial contained some form of poison.

"Is that so difficult, removing those who have spent their lives tormenting you?"

"Answer my question. Who are you working for?"

"Why, the one person who can rule Westeros with a proper hand." Varys gave a slight smile. "The true Queen. Daenerys Targaryen."

"Daenerys?" Tyrion choked out, unsure whether to believe him. "Why her?" Tyrion pocketed the vial.

"Simple: she has grown up knowing what it's like to have nothing, hunted down like an animal. Leaving in fear of her older brother, she's developed empathy for those who need it most. Already she has delivered freedom to hundreds of thousands."

"Fine, now get out." Tyrion no longer felt like arguing. When he turned around again, Varys and his birds were gone, with no indication they were ever there.

He continued to pace, thinking about Varys' words. In his darkest moments, Tyrion considered killing his father and certainly his sister. Jaime he would not harm even now. _But am I truly going to become a Kinslayer? _Few were more condemned than those who murdered their family, whatever else their crimes. They were his blood, however much he loathed them.

Yet they had never treated him as family. No matter what Tyrion did, his father gave no acknowledge or care of his accomplishments. Cersei had prayed for his death in the past. Tyrion fingered the vial in his pockets. He would never have what he wanted, nor would his father and sister ever think higher of him. Fantasizing about their deaths was one thing. Killing them was another.

_I'll ask Jaime in the morning, find out the truth for sure. _If Tysha had indeed loved him the way Varys claimed. . . Tyrion didn't know what his next actions would be.

XXXXX

For anyone wondering about Tyrion's rant, this is Tyrion from the books, not the show. Much as I enjoyed Peter Dinklage's performance, the show softened his character quite a bit, especially in later seasons. Especially a certain scene in Volantis.

As for the Wall, even GRRM admitted he made it too big when he saw it visualized.


	28. Et tu, Jaime?

Daenerys looked over the latest reports. Qarth and Volantis had both dispatched fleets to blockade the city, and they would arrive in a matter of days. An alliance between Yunkai and Astapor had formed and march by land. They would arrive within weeks, and they alone outnumbered her own forces by three to one.

_What am I going to do? _She had her dragons, but while they were of riding size, Daenerys hesitated to bring them into combat. They were the only children she would ever have, and she wouldn't risk their lives until there was no other choice. _There isn't one. _If she wanted any hope of victory, the dragons would have to be used.

Daenerys laughed at the silly little girl she had been mere months before. She'd assumed overthrowing the slavers would allow freedom to reign, and she would rule as a benevolent queen. However, those who resisted her would do everything in their power to prevent liberation from spreading.

_At least the number of attacks in Meereen has quieted down. _After Daenerys had executed several children, the nobles realized she was willing to back up her threat. It was close to a week before any further ambushes occurred in the city. She had killed nearly a hundred Sons of the Harpy and executed more, but it seemed to make little difference.

"Khalessi, Hizdahr is here to see you." The shavepate informed her.

"Send him in." The man was ruthless, but had proven his loyalty to Daenerys. However unpleasant she found it, she knew she would need men like him to ensure long-term stability.

Hizdahr zo Loraq swaggered in with a smile, wearing bright green clothing with multiple layers. Daenerys frowned at the obvious decadence. "It is my pleasure to serve, Your Grace." He bowed. "What can I do for you today?"

"Sit," Daenerys ordered. "I wish to discuss your proposal." He did so without another word and poured himself a glass of wine.

"I would have expected you to have a servant alongside," Hizdahr commented.

"This meeting is only between us," Daenerys responded. "As for your proposal to reopen the fighting pits, I cannot at this time agree to it. I consider it a barbaric practice that should have ended long ago." Even some of the pit fighters complained, but Daenerys was adamant.

"Your Grace, such an opening would allow our city to flourish and offer people a respite from their woes." Hizdahr sipped his drink. "But let us set that aside for now. What of my main proposal?"

"To marry you in exchange for a ninety-day peace?" Daenerys thumped her fingers on the table. "I don't think that's necessary, not when I've proven my threats have teeth."

"Meaning no disrespect, Your Grace, but you have enemies marching at your gates." Hizdahr relaxed into his chair. "If you. . . if we wish to survive, we must make a gesture of unity. This city has suffered from warfare for too long."

"We have." Daenerys had allowed those from surrounding towns and village refuge, provided they revealed no obvious sign of illness. "But I have my dragons and Unsullied, equal to ten times their number."

"Do you mean to marry Daario then?" Hizdahr narrowed his eyes.

"No." He was fun in bed, but Daenerys knew better than to marry a sellsword. "If you want us to marry, you're going to have to promise more than ninety days."

"Your Grace, I am no member of the Harpy!" Hizdahr tried to sound indignant but terror spread across his face. He took a large drink and trembled.

"Well, that's a shame." Daenerys spoke in a dangerous voice.

"I apologize. I wish I had information to give you! They want me dead as well!" Hizdahr jumped to his feet and stared at the door.

"You're not going anywhere." Daenerys knew he would try fleeing from the beginning. "You see, I lied when I claimed we were alone." Grey Worm climbed out from under her bed and Strong Belwas emerged from her dresser. "I'd like to make a proposal of my own." She kept her voice steady. "You give me every member of the Harpy and I don't crucify you." Anyone with experience would have checked the room for foes, but he was a fool.

"Your Grace, I am innocent!" Hizdahr soiled himself, making Daenerys' lips curl.

"Don't insult my intelligence." Daenerys found her voice more intimidating when she was quiet. "You've offered me peace with the Sons of the Harpy in exchange for marriage multiple times. Did you truly think I wouldn't make the connection?"

"Khalessi, let me gut this man." Belwas smiled. "A pitiful display, not even worth allowing him to cut me."

"Please, I've done nothing to you!" Hizdahr broke down in tears and fell to his knees. "Your Grace, I've only. . ."

"Another lie and I will remove your tongue." Daenerys stood up. "Now you will give all the information you have. This is not a negotiation." Grey Worm threw something on the table. "In case you needed additional incentive."

"This. . . is my sister's ring." Hizdahr gulped at the human hand. "You. . ."

"Yes, I did, as a warning to what will happen if you don't tell me what I want to know." Hizdahr pressed his body into a corner and held his hands out. "I have your sister, your children, and your cousins. Do you need a few more body parts to make up your mind? I'm sure the Shavepate won't mind getting them for you."

"Don't hurt them!" What little resistance left in Hizdahr faded. "I'll give them to you!"

"I knew you were lying about not being a member." Daenerys paced back and forth. "I don't enjoy executing children, especially for crimes they were not a part of. But you? I'll enjoy seeing a man like you suffer."

"If I give you the names, you will spare my life." Hizdahr collapsed to the ground.

"No." Daenerys denied. "You will die; that much will not change. However, provided you offer full cooperation, your execution will be merciful, and I will spare your family." She turned to Belwas. "Fetch a quill and parchment."

"I. . . I don't know everyone." Hizdahr begged.

"Give me everyone you do know." Daenerys demanded. "Grey Worm, if he hesitates again, break every bone in his free hand."

"Of course, Khalessi." He agreed underneath his helmet. Hizdahr grabbed the quill and wrote with such haste, the names were hardly legible. Daenerys waited with steel eyes, nonverbally warning him of the consequences of holding back.

In total, he wrote down sixty-one names for them to interrogate. "Give this to the shavepate." Daenerys ordered Belwas. "I want every Son of the Harpy found and executed. We no longer have the luxury of rooting them out one at a time."

"That's everyone, I swear!" Hizdahr begged.

"For your sake, I hope so." Daenerys cupped his chin. "You and your fellow slavers have spit on my mercy for the last time. Perhaps I should have killed you all the moment I conquered Meereen. I'm still considering that option." Perhaps Daario had been right after all, brutal as the act was.

"You will. . . you will spare their lives?" Hizdahr sobbed.

"Yes. No further harm will come to them." In truth, Daenerys had not cut his sister's hand off; merely put her ring on a recently deceased corpse's finger. She'd half-expected him to see through the ploy, but the information received about his cowardice proved to be true.

"What will you do with me now?"

"When the sun sets, you will be executed for treason, as will every Son of the Harpy." It occurred to Daenerys Hizdahr could be lying about the names to save his own skin, but it couldn't be helped. She bit her lip, tempted to have him crucified regardless of his cooperation. He dared to propose a marriage in return for a temporary peace! No doubt he'd planned to turn her into a Puppet Queen, at best. _No. I gave him my word. _Daenerys knew he would never have done the same were their positions reversed, but she refused to become what she fought against. "Get him out of my sight."

"Khalessi, are you sure about this?" Grey Worm questioned when the interrogation was over.

"I am." It would tell her enemies she would no longer be weak and spared Daenerys the agony of executing children. "I'll feed their corpses to my children." As they grew, her dragons required an enormous amount of food and it was an easy way to dispose of them. "And now we have to deal with Yunkai and Astapor's forces."

Daenerys toured the city, her Unsullied at her side. She could hear distant sounds of suspected members of the Harpy dragged out of their homes, wives pleading for their husband's lives. _I am the blood of the dragon. _Daenerys allowed them to see her power, her authority over Meereen. All her enemies would soon fall before her.

XXXXXXX

"I'm glad you were willing to come around," Margaery smiled from across the table, holding Matthew's hand.

"Consider it a method of reconciliation," Matthew still didn't trust the Tyrells, but having met the Red Viper in person, he realized there was nothing that would persuade him to move past his grudge. "I hope the Wedding Plans are to your satisfaction."

"A pleasure to have you as my good-brother," Loras practically choked on the words. While Garlan was always polite to him, Loras' hatred for him had not dimmed in the least. "And I am deeply honored to be a member of your Kingsguard."

"Oh, the honor's all mine." Matthew spoke in a dry tone. He didn't want Loras anywhere near him, but Margaery had insisted on it as one of her terms for marriage. "Do keep in mind it's a lifetime duty before you make your final decision."

"Thanks for agreeing to this, Your Grace," Margaery got to her feet. "I believe both of us will prosper from such an alliance. Originally, I had intended to allow my grandmother to debate the details, but she believed me capable of doing so."

"Oh, I find you a very capable woman," Matthew held her hands in his. She had a gorgeous smile and pretty face, which meant many would overlook her keen mind. Matthew wasn't about to make the same mistake. _Mental note: do not drink anything at the wedding. _He remembered how the canon Joffrey died and was grateful the Queen of Thorns wasn't around. "And I believe you've sufficiently made up for your mistake."

"Both of us find ourselves with few friends and many enemies," Garlan interjected. "Doing this is a natural step. And despite your reputation, I do not believe you will mistreat my sister." He was quieter than his younger brother, but Matthew received the warning nonetheless.

"No, nor would I expect your family to allow a marriage to anyone like that. Shame it couldn't be said about everyone." Matthew thought of Tywin Lannister. "But right now, our struggles are far from over. Better to stand together than apart."

"And I assure you, I'm a maid," Margaery smiled. Matthew had no idea whether she was telling the truth, nor did he care. Wasn't as if there was a reliable way to determine virginity, despite claims to the contrary.

"Whatever you say, My Lady." Matthew smiled. "Between you and me, though far fewer are maids on their wedding day than is commonly believed. Yes, women are quieter about it, but they too participate in nighttime activities." Those who he'd discovered agreed to spy for him in exchange for keeping his mouth shut.

"You are most wise, Your Grace." Margaery complimented, which Matthew considered mere flattery. "I believe you will be among the best Kings in Westeros."

"If the Gods permit, at least." And if his track record improved. "I'll let my subordinates take care of most of the wedding details." Matthew had instructed Cersei to keep an eye out for possible trouble. She'd be an atrocious rule, but his supposed mother still had her uses. "Much as I would like to handle it, there is only so much time in a day."

"I'll defend you with my life, Your Grace." Loras smiled but Matthew could see the hatred bubbling within.

_She wants someone to protect her. . . or to kill me when the time's right. _It was a risk he had to take nonetheless. Matthew considered hiring more bodyguards to keep Loras in check, in case the other members of his Kingsguard weren't enough. _Bodyguards to protect me from my other bodyguards. The way things are going, I'll end up like a Roman Emperor. _

"What of the offer you made to Arianne?" Garlan interjected. "The Red Viper's a dangerous man and not one to take such an insult lightly."

"Betrothals are often broken, with several proposed before a match is final." Matthew dismissed. He intended to keep an eye on both of them nonetheless.

"How could you have ever considered such a match, Your Grace?" Margaery questioned. "It is well known Dornish women are loose and untrustworthy."

"Keep your friends close. . . and your enemies closer." Matthew gave a brief pointed look. He trusted the Tyrells as far as he could spit a brick, but with the Stormlanders' support half-hearted at best, there were few places to turn. "Doran won't act so long as his brother and daughter are in the Capitol." In the worst-case scenario, he could use Dorne against the Reach. Based on the knowledge he obtained from Joffrey, their hatred went back a thousand years.

"I hope, in agreeing to this, we will no longer be hostages," Garlan wanted to ensure his family's safety.

"Very well, though the payments will continue for at least the next five years." Matthew wondered how much progress his projects were making back in Casterly Rock. He'd wanted to work on them himself, but Kingship was incompatible with inventing. "I've got great plans for the continent."

They continued debating the details long into the afternoon. The match between Margaery and Matthew was finalized, although Loras' assignment to the Kingsguard was non-negotiable. He'd expected Tywin's presence, though Matthew surmised he was still being tested as a ruler.

"I look forward to being a part of your family." Margaery kissed his cheek before departing. Matthew marched out of his chambers shortly afterward.

Waiting along the corridors were his personal troops, those whom he had raised up from nothing. Few wore more than mail and possessed limited skill with swords, but were still capable. Matthew felt dozens upon dozens of determined eyes on him.

His personal army had grown to several thousand, outnumbering the Gold Cloaks and comparable in number to the Lannister bannermen still within the city. More smallfolk were being trained by those with combat experience, regularly giving vows of loyalty to the King.

Matthew wandered to the training yard, to see and be seen. Five hundred stood in formation with pikes and helmets, which he hoped to soon turn into musketmen. They'd already proven themselves valuable facing Robb and Matthew desired a counter to the other players in King's Landing. He'd found those he recruited would be loyal so long as he could provide for them, and thanks to his recent deals, he had no shortage of gold.

**"Excellent idea; have an army loyal only to you!" **Joffrey laughed. Matthew knew the boy had a point. **"You're surrounded by enemies, those who wish you harm. It won't be long until they try again!" **

_I'm well aware of that. _Matthew didn't plan to eat or drink anything during the wedding. He didn't put it past Margaery to try and poison him. _Can't believe I'd prefer being shot at. _At least then, he knew what to do. Despite improvement, politics and backstabbing were not his forte.

XXXXXXX

_It isn't true. It isn't true. _Tyrion's steps felt like lead as he ascended the stairs to Jaime's chambers. It had been two days since the conversation with Varys and while he'd promised to confront his brother immediately, Tyrion had been unable to do so that morning. He'd lost his nerve at the last moment and retreated. _Not this time. _

Thoughts of Tysha rarely left his mind now, of the young girl he'd fallen in love with, that part of him still loved. Even if she was a whore, Tyrion had grown attached to her until Tywin ripped her away. He cursed himself for his lack of courage when it was his turn. He should have refused to touch her. . . but even now, Tyrion knew he couldn't stand up to his sister, let alone then. Few could.

His hand wrapped around the door handle, bracing himself. Tyrion spotted no guards at Jaime's door. He hadn't expected them; his brother had always been capable of defending himself. _Yes, greatest swordsman in Westeros, and the most handsome. _Tyrion forced back his resentment. Jaime had always loved him, one of the few in his family that did. _I hope. _

"Hello, little brother." Jaime smiled, leaning back in his chair. "To what do I owe this pleasure? I'd expected you to be in the Master of Coin's office."

"Well, there are times I need to get away. I'm a Lannister, after all. Gold is one thing I do not lack." Tyrion fell back on familiar quips, studying his brother. Jaime revealed no sign that he suspected anything.

"I never did have the patience for it. I prefer using my sword to win wars over gold." Jaime pointed to his new blade, one made of Valyrian Steel, melted from Stark's greatsword after his execution. "But I always enjoy a visit from my brother. Care for some wine?"

"No." Tyrion hadn't touched it since the visit. "I need to speak to you about something important." Jaime's cheerful face disappeared immediately.

"What do you need me for? If it's our sweet sister. . ."

"No, she hasn't given me trouble. Perhaps she's learned to love me after all." Tyrion gave a dark laugh. _Out with it. You need to know, one way or the other. _"It's about Tysha."

"You still think about her, even now?" A brief look of guilt crossed Jaime's face.

"Well, it's hard to forget my once-wife surrounded by Lannister guardsmen." Tyrion attempted to make a joke, but it came out with rage instead. "And over time, I've been thinking more about it. I'm not a boy anymore, and I wonder. . ." His body went stiff. ". . . what the truth really is."

"What are you talking about, Tyrion? I know we never forget our first fuck, regardless of who it was."

_No, you'd never forget Cersei, would you? _In his own twisted way, Jaime had always been faithful to her. "You told me she was a whore, that you set it up because you thought it was time I had a woman. I'm beginning to wonder."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have done it, but it was a rite of passage all of us need to go through."

"Yes, so you've told me all these years." Anger grew with every word. "And I've never questioned it, until now. Tysha was a very convincing wife, so. . . I wonder if it was an act, if she wasn't genuinely in love again."

More guilt entered Jaime's face, and this time, it stayed. "Tyrion, where did this come from? I know Father was harsh with you, but. . ."

"Oh, he's never been anything else. I want the truth. Now!" Tyrion couldn't hold it back any longer.

"I. . ." Jaime rubbed his temples. "No, she wasn't a whore. Tysha's exactly who you once thought she was."

Tyrion gripped the table to keep from falling. He'd known Varys' words sounded true, but there was a part of him hoping it was a falsehood. Hearing the words from Jaime's mouth. . . _She wasn't a whore. _She'd been the only one in Westeros who ever gave a damn about him. "And you couldn't have told me this, then?" Tyrion stammered, fighting back tears.

"Father forbade it." Jaime turned his head away. "He said. . . that a lesson had to be sent." He placed his head on his chin. "That all she cared about was your gold, that you'd understand why it had to be done."

"Do you have any idea what he did?" Tyrion spat, all his previous love for Jaime gone in an instant. "I was forced to watch while every guardsmen in his house raped. Father forced me in place, to where I couldn't look away. At first, she pleaded with me, begging me to do something. . . then she lost her voice. A silver coin for each one. . . by the end, there was a pile of them on the floor."

"I. . . I never imagined he'd do that." Jaime's voice went quiet with shame. "I thought he'd annul the marriage, have a septon declare it void. . . who would have refused him?"

"And last, there was me." Tyrion had wanted to tell Jaime for many years. "I saw her eyes, broken and pleading. There was no spirit left in her, nothing of the girl I loved. Father ordered me to do the same and. . . I did." Tyrion wished he'd had the strength to refuse, but he did not. "And you kept this information from me. Where did she go?"

"I don't know. Father sent her away and never mentioned her again. He didn't kill her, but that's all I know."

"You don't know." Tyrion sneered.

"I'm sorry, brother. I've wanted to tell you for years, but. . ."

"We are well beyond apologies, Jaime. A Lannister always pays their debts." Jaime, his father, Cersei. . . his entire family had betrayed him. "I've known the truth about you for a long time. You and Cersei, all those secret meeting places behind the King's back. Unlike him, I wasn't a blind fool."

"Do you intend to tell Father about us?"

"No, you don't get off that easily. I trusted you, Jaime, an act I now see was a mistake."

"I know this was a grave mistake, and one not easily forgiven." Jaime got to his feet with a groan. "Yet you are still my younger brother, and I ask you: can you forgive me for this?"

"No." Tyrion expressed a single word. "It seems the Gods will not be satisfied until I lose everything. Just so you know, brother, you've been loyal to Cersei, but what makes you think she's been loyal to you?"

"I know this is difficult, so I'll pretend you didn't say this."

"You might be surprised at what you'll discover." Tyrion waddled off. He knew Cersei had been unfaithful to him, but wanted Jaime to discover it himself, make the revelation all the more painful.

_Even Jaime has betrayed me. _His brother could have told him the truth for years, only to keep it to himself. _Tysha. . . _Tyrion wondered where she was now. Was his lost love alive or dead? If she was alive, where was she? He'd been too broken to ask at the time, but now. . .

Many in court turned to look at Tyrion, but he stared back. He dared them to insult him, to call him dwarf or imp one more time. If they were foolish enough, he'd ruin them and damn the consequences.

_Pity. . . _nobody approached him, either to kiss his ass or insult him. With no visible targets to vent his rage at, Tyrion marched back into his chambers, with nothing to do but think and fume. His sellswords had been transferred to the King's personal troops, leaving him with minimal protection.

_Couldn't leave me a thing, could you, Father? _Tywin had always hated his dwarf son, and took extra pleasure in humiliating him. _I will never have Casterly Rock, Tysha, nor will I receive any gratitude for keeping this family afloat. _Tyrion wondered why he'd bothered for all those years. Cersei was a blind fool, lashing out at shadows, while Jaime was too enthralled by her to say anything.

Varys had told the truth. Tyrion had prayed the Spider was lying to him, but he knew. His gaze turned toward the vial hidden near a pile of financial records, which he was confident no one would care to read. _Except me, the Master of jobs no one else wants. _The opportunity for revenge, if he wanted to take it.

Tyrion rubbed his temples. Furious as he was, he couldn't bring himself to harm Jaime, even if a small part of him delighted in Tywin's reaction to his favorite son's death. _Father wouldn't be able to. . . Tywin wouldn't know how to respond. _He had never been a father to him.

Tyrion knew Varys had ulterior motives for giving him the information. The eunuch had another agenda, someone he believed would make a better ruler. Yet still he hesitated to act. Tywin wouldn't care if he was found out; it wouldn't impact his plans in the least.

He hopped up and pocketed the vial, caring less and less about what Varys wanted. _I've never gotten what I wanted. Why shouldn't I make them suffer? _The whole world thought him a monster despite saving their ungrateful lives. Perhaps he should have let Renly slaughter them.

Their visitor in the King's body. . . he had to have known the truth. Even if he didn't, Tyrion didn't care. They'd had a pleasant relationship at first, only for the King to turn on him, like everyone else. He'd been a tool for him to use upon arrival, nothing more than that.

However, he knew if he was going to act, it would have to be done delicately. _This would get me beheaded if I was caught. _Tyrion couldn't identify what was inside, but knew it could be nothing other than poison. _Perhaps Varys wants me as a scapegoat, someone to hang our crimes on. _

Tyrion found himself ignored for the next few days as the wedding preparations were made. The King spent much of his time with Margaery or her brothers. Tyrion couldn't help but be curious as to how he intended to smooth things over, but both the Lannisters had Tyrells had plenty of enemies around them.

"Quite insulting to offer a marriage proposal and then ignore it." Oberyn Martell remarked alongside his niece one day during Tyrion's normal duties. "Wouldn't you agree, dwarf?"

"Our King seems to enjoy insulting people." Tyrion shrugged. "Surely, though, he wouldn't dare to offend Dorne."

"Enough of your games!" Oberyn snapped. Arianne waited there with a polite smile on her face. Tyrion saw far more skin revealed than anyone in King's Landing would have dared show. "He made us a promise and I intend to make sure he honors it."

"Perhaps we're both being given a favor," Tyrion suggested, unsure why he bothered to defend his family. "You wouldn't want your niece in King's Landing. Whole city smells like shit." Both knew Oberyn didn't truly want the match, but it was an excellent opportunity to cause the Lannisters trouble.

"You've just fought one war. I can't imagine you're eager for another." Oberyn looked ready to draw a dagger. "I have not forgotten what Gregor Clegane did to my sister and her children."

"You'll have the opportunity to get your revenge in a matter of days." Clegane had already been called back to King's Landing, while his brother Sandor was ordered to return to his keep. Tyrion knew his younger brother was just as feared and possessing more restraint. "I expect half the Kingdom will be disappointed they were robbed of the opportunity."

"I will accept the gesture for what it is," Oberyn muttered. "But this will not be an insult easily forgotten. And now he wishes to give my niece to his younger brother."

"Did he?" Tyrion heard the same offer made to Sansa Stark. He was attempting to play both sides, though Tyrion doubted it would have the intended effect. "Now, unless you want to visit a brothel with me, I must return to my duties."

"If you were anyone other than a Lannister, I would accept."

"Do give my fond regards to the King, My Lord," Arianne spoke up. "Tell him I can still. . . prove to be of service in other ways."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear it." Tyrion gave a nod and departed. He spent the rest of the day going through their finances. The damage Littlefinger caused had been somewhat mitigated but could easily destroy them if they weren't careful.

When all his preparations were ready, Tyrion told himself the moment was now. _Do I truly want to go through with this? _No one was more damned than a kinslayer and however much his family mistreated him, they were still his relatives. And his older brother had expressed genuine remorse, even if he had been too much of a coward to tell him the truth earlier.

_Why, so I can slave away my years, getting nothing in return? Tywin will give Casterly Rock to a peasant before he hands it to me! _Tyrion thought of Tysha's face, broken by what she'd endured. Not a day passed where it didn't enter his memory. Tywin had made his feelings clear. Kevan would follow his brother's lead.

Tyrion handed the vial to one of his servants in his pocket, who would then hand it to an unsuspecting cook, believing it to be a mere spice. By the time the truth was realized, he would be long gone.

Still. . . a hundred things could go wrong. Assassinations were not easy to carry out and people at the top were the most protected of all. Tyrion felt relief wash over his body once the deed was done. _I shouldn't be feeling this way. _Try as he might, he felt no remorse for what he'd done, only satisfaction of paying back a lifetime of mistreatment.

The night before the wedding, no one bothered to pay attention to a single imp. Tyrion grabbed a sack of gold and gems he'd been saving up in case he needed to make an emergency trip. It wouldn't last indefinitely, but it would ensure food and comfort for a long time, along with paying off anyone who might ask uncomfortable questions.

Tyrion marched out of the Red Keep. However much he wanted to witness justice served with his own eyes, it would be foolish to stick around. _I'd be their primary suspect. _Even if he'd been innocent, he suspected his family and everyone in court would be happy to put the blame on him.

Without guards, Tyrion knew he was hideously vulnerable. He wore a shirt of chain-mail, enough to cover most of his body, along with a hidden dagger in case of attackers. He chuckled at the possibility of dying at the hands of an attacker who had no idea who he was.

Even without light, Tyrion knew precisely where to go. Only a handful were outside their homes, shady characters committing dirty deeds. No one took notice of him, perhaps for the first time in his life. They didn't ask him questions, nor did they care.

He ignored the mud and shit on his boots, reminding himself this would be the last time he was ever in King's Landing. There was no turning back, with the poison in place. Tyrion put on a brave face, refusing to make himself look like an easy target.

At the docks, a ship waited for him, one due to depart in a couple days. Tyrion had previously got word to the captain about a bonus given for extra cargo. They weren't the type to ask many questions, something he was profoundly grateful for. He arrived to find a handful of guards stationed to prevent possible robbery.

"I believe you were told to expect me," Tyrion handed them each a gold coin. Even if they decided to kill him for the rest, it would be better than returning to the Red Keep.

"You got the cargo?" One of them asked, a giant of a man nearly six feet tall.

"You're looking at it." Tyrion spread his hands out.

"It's you?" Another scoffed, carrying a spear. He pointed it near, but not directly at, Tyrion. "Sounds like that'll cost you double."

"Always happy to reward my friends." Tyrion inwardly seethed but did as requested. He'd brought along hundreds of gold dragons, along with precious gems. "Now if I could come aboard. . ." Each of them nodded and Tyrion prepared himself. He'd never enjoyed ship travel, but it couldn't be helped.

Most of the cargo the ship, _Sea Warrior, _was designed to carry stayed below deck. Apart from the guards, the other members were asleep. Few would know of Tyrion's presence until the time was right. He kept his footprints quiet and creeped down below deck. The longship wouldn't be in the city long.

Tyrion wandered through the corridors until he found his room, only five feet high by seven feet wide. Were he anyone else, it would have proved extremely cramped. _One of the few times being a dwarf has worked out for me. _Tyrion stretched out and laid down, relieved to be free of his family at last.

With a single act, Lannister supremacy would soon be shattered. And by the time they learned of him, Tyrion would be on his way to Slaver's Bay to meet someone new.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, Tyrion's last hope is shattered and now we see the man of "A Dance With Dragons." I'm toying with the idea of him meeting Tysha again, though I haven't made up my mind completely. Out of all the mistakes Matthew's made, trusting Tyrion was probably the biggest; very easy to forget what he was like in the books, especially later on.


	29. Purple Wedding

Just to clarify, this was never meant to be the sort of story where the protagonist shows up, magically fixes everything, and leads Westeros to prosperity with no trouble. I've read enough similar stories, usually involving a trueborn son of Robert and Cersei. He's the best warrior in Westeros, the smartest man despite his young age, holds no prejudices, befriends the Starks, and joins them when the war starts, complete with a Sansa pairing (And occasionally, with Arya)

Here, actions have consequences and things don't magically get better because someone dies. I've heard it suggested that Matthew should have killed Littlefinger and Varys the day he arrived. Apart from the fact even the King needs a genuine reason to kill two people that high-ranking, Littlefinger's death here led to Renly being much more dangerous, a delayed alliance with the Tyrells, and Lysa sending Knights of the Vale to assist Robb. Not the best outcome, all things considered.

To me, the problems in King's Landing go far deeper than those two and killing them wouldn't matter much. Robert Baratheon did little but drink and whore, while Aerys was a lunatic. The rot has seeped in for decades and it's very difficult to clean up. Matthew can fight a war, but he's outmatched in politics, which any of us would be.

I know it doesn't appeal to everyone. We like happy endings and scenarios with simple solutions, but it doesn't feel like Westeros to me.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Where the hell is Tyrion?" Matthew demanded. His behavior had been strange for well over a week and now there was no sign of him. He'd gotten word to his spies, but none of them knew where he was, either.

"No doubt engaging in his usual drunken debauchery," Tywin scowled before returning to the matter at hand. "You know what's expected of you during this wedding, I trust."

"I'm familiar with the procedure," Matthew dismissed. "What I want to know is why that Imp isn't here. He's not at the taverns or brothels, and for him, it's like being replaced by a pod person." At Tywin's quizzical gaze, he added: "Out of character for him."

**"Should have killed him a long time ago!" **Joffrey declared. **"You can't trust dwarves, my Uncle least of all!" **

_Finding myself agreeing with Joffrey more often than I'd like. _Matthew didn't consider it a positive sign. "He's up to something; I'm sure of it."

"If it reassures you, Your Grace, I will locate my wayward sign and make sure he does not miss the wedding."

"Assuming he hasn't already arranged my death." Matthew hadn't meant to speak out loud but he couldn't help himself. He'd learned how to handle enemies on the field, shooting at him or using medieval weapons. Politics where the consequences of failure was death happened to be another matter.

"Your Grace, my son is a wastrel, but he wouldn't dare make an attempt on you." Far as Matthew was concerned, Tywin had a major blind spot when it came to Tyrion. "I understand you're feeling paranoid after recent events but. . ."

"Paranoid is what they call people who imagine threats against their life. I have threats against my life." Matthew didn't plan to eat or drink a thing during the wedding. "And since he's spent his life harming your legacy, what better way to do so?"

"Every precaution has been taken," Tywin didn't believe Matthew but his voice stayed the same. Matthew had insisted on people watching the food and drink at all times, including his personal guard, who he changed out every day to ensure no one could get close to them.

"We've got a lot of enemies and I don't intend to send an impression of weakness." More than he already had, at any rate. "You won't live forever and someone's got to ensure it doesn't fall apart after your death. Tell me, are either of your children capable of that?" Matthew knew it was a low blow, but it got his point across.

"More astute than I'd expected," Tywin gave him reluctant credit. "My son seems determined to remain in the Kingsguard despite my efforts to get him to claim Casterly Rock. The less said of my daughter, the better."

"So, since I seem to be your only hope, it seems a wise idea to listen to me." Tywin fixed his death stare on Matthew. "Oh, spare me. Truth is often difficult to hear, so don't waste your energy trying to intimidate me."

"Everything will go smoothly, and our alliance will be assured. Your fear will not enter into that."

"You've underestimated your son more than once," Matthew cautioned. "I don't intend to make your mistake." He walked out of the room before Tywin could respond. Matthew expected the man to try and hold him back, but he did nothing.

The wedding was in a matter of hours. _One way or the other, it'll be over with. _His marriage to Margaery would be a political one, but most were, and he hoped they could at least get along with each other. He didn't intend to become another version of Robert Baratheon.

Throughout court, there wasn't a single sign of Tyrion. That he'd disappeared from brothels and taverns warned Matthew something was up. _And the little bastard's smart. If he did poison me, Tyrion would be long gone. _

He glanced over at Oberyn and Arianne, whom he'd reluctantly extended an invitation to the wedding. Matthew hoped he wouldn't have to marry Tommen to Arianne and would only do so as a last result. _Maybe to Sansa as a symbolic gesture. Robb still holds his honor sacred, at least. _There weren't a whole lot of other choices, not with Loras joining the Kingsguard. _No way would I give either one of them to a Frey. _

Plots within plots, trapped in a different world, Joffrey in his head. . . Matthew thought if he survived without going insane, he'd start believing in God again. At least King's Landing was starting to improve. Matthew glanced out the windows toward the public latrine he was in the process of building, which he hoped would lower the disease rate.

**"Why do you even bother? They won't care, and it won't gain you a thing."**

_Unlike you, I'm not willing to turn my back when I could do something. _Matthew knew he couldn't fix everything, but wanted to at least leave Westeros in better condition than it was currently. Assuming all his so-called "allies" would let him.

Matthew marched into the chambers on the edge of the Red Keep, where Stannis and Melisandre stayed. Several of the King's Men outside the door let them in without a word. "Has the mining of obsidian began?" Matthew didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Yes, though according to the last letter I received, progress is limited." Stannis responded. "They question the necessity, but will not disobey a direct order." He turned to Melisandre. "Does this truly work or is it merely a false legend?"

"Creatures of ice cannot withstand the personification of fire," Melisandre assured. "During the Long Night, it was the only weapon the First Men possessed that could kill our enemy."

"But I have another concern," Stannis interrupted. "I have seen you do little to fulfill your promises. What guarantee do I have Joffrey is not standing in front of me?"

"Oh, spare me the threats; I've already listened to a long spiel from Tywin." Matthew felt Joffrey shudder within him. For all his petty cruelty, the boy was a coward. "And yes, if he takes over, you'll behead me, execute me, blah blah blah, regardless of the consequences." For all Stannis' threats, Matthew preferred it to political intrigue.

"You have done little to cleanse the corruption, and as my brother had no trueborn heirs, the throne is mine by right. I have forgotten that, for now, but that does not mean I enjoy this partnership of ours. Want does not enter into it. It is my duty to ascend to the Iron Throne."

"Perhaps you should be a little less transparent. Anything happens to me, your head is next on the chopping block, and you're even more hopeless at political intrigue than I am. You don't have any excuses, either. So have you accomplished anything besides threatening me?"

"I have removed most of the Gold Cloaks taking bribes. Many still do, of course, but none will again be so transparent. Twenty-seven have been executed, and an additional one hundred and two sent to the Wall. When the time comes, they will not last long, but they will still be useful."

"At least that problem's being solved."

"Corruption will not matter when the Long Night comes," Melisandre proclaimed. "Only Lightbringer is capable of dealing a fatal blow to our true enemy." Matthew glanced over at Stannis' sword, interested in what sort of trick allowed it to glow.

"It absolutely matters, Melisandre," Matthew confronted her. "Corruption prevents us from uniting, it weakens us, and prevents me from doing anything significant to prepare." He wondered if those who warned of the Nazis before the war felt the same way, along with China's intentions before World War Three. _Probably. _"Your religion may not understand that, but I do."

"So long as Tywin Lannister lives, little will be accomplished," Stannis interjected. "The rot did not begin with him, but it has grown and festered since he was Hand of the King. He will allow no reform, and the corrupt can hide underneath his legs."

"Tywin won't be around forever." Not many reached the age of sixty in Westeros. "We'll have to do our best." Matthew worried far more about what Cersei could do than Tywin. She rarely thought through the consequences, and her murder of Littlefinger had nearly destroyed them.

"Nor are the Tyrells trustworthy and you place them in a position to open your throat," Stannis added. "I would never do anything so foolish."

"Which is precisely why the Iron Throne will never be yours, whether you kill me or not." Matthew scoffed. "You don't make alliances with people you trust, and you're incapable of bending. I don't like them, either, but it's political reality. Something you still fail to understand."

"If I may make a request, Your Grace," Melisandre interjected before their conversation rose to a shout. "I see great peril at your wedding."

"No kidding, not that anyone else is willing to listen to me." Matthew wondered how many were merely incompetent and who truly wanted him dead. He didn't intend to give them what they wanted.

"Therefore, I request to accompany you," Melisandre finished. "I have seen tragedy in the flames, a wounded creature lashing out at all who have caused him pain."

_Yep, that's Tyrion. _Matthew considered her request. "Very well, if you wish to come along. However, you will dress in plain clothes. I don't intend to attract any unnecessary attention." Without her distinctive red dress, Matthew doubted many would recognize Melisandre, even taking her height into account.

"Do not ask me to attend," Stannis ground his teeth. "I have better things to do than speak with sycophants, liars, and fools."

"Hence why you'll never have the Iron Throne, for that's what you spend most of your time doing as King." Matthew knew their partnership was unlikely to be a permanent one. "Melisandre, have you seen anything in the flames, any precaution I have overlooked?" It required him to trust his subordinates, a dicey proposition in Westeros.

"Flames speak of danger, but not its source."

"Don't forget, I want you to blend in with everyone else." Matthew would not tolerate any argument on it. "Least in a gunfight, I don't have to worry my so-called allies will shoot me in the back."

XXXXXXXXXX

"A gift for you, Your Grace." Tywin handed Matthew a Valyrian Steel sword, reforged from Ned Stark's greatsword Ice. Margaery stood at his side, leaning against him, arm around his waist.

"Thank you, Grandfather." Matthew nodded. "I assure you, I will take proper care of it."

"What do you plan on naming it, Your Grace?" Margaery inquired.

"Only fools name their swords," Matthew scoffed. Before him stood hundreds of noble, all ready to kiss his ass. He had to admit, he and Margaery made an excellent couple. She wore a polite smile, studying the surroundings with calculating eyes. _She's got wits to rival her grandmother's. _

Gift after gift was placed on a table beside them, swords, daggers, jewels, books, artifacts from distant lands. Songs were song and vows were exchanged with the High Septon. "I'm amazed that fat fool can stand so long." Matthew muttered. Margaery giggled in response, an act she quickly concealed from the crowd.

Once the proceedings were over, Matthew and Margaery sat atop a pair of tall chairs for the King and Queen. He fussed with his crown, attempting to get it to set perfectly. Even after close to three years, it was still a strange sensation. _Hard to believe it's truly been so long. _His memories of Earth faded by the day.

"Husband, you seem so tense," Margaery laughed. "You have triumphed in battle against all your enemies. Do weddings scare you so?"

"My dear Margaery, what would I possibly have to fear, surrounded by friends?" Matthew gestured to everyone. He had Barristan and Balon watch Loras at all times, the boy not quite able to conceal his contempt.

"To a glorious reign and a prosperous realm," Garlan raised his cup.

"To an everlasting alliance." Matthew glanced over at Oberyn and Arianne, who made little effort to interact with others. He studied Garlan, as Garlan studied him.

_Wonder what the smallfolk would think of us now, _Matthew mused as he watched food fall onto the floor. Few took notice of the servants bringing in new courses, but he observed the resentment on their faces. Matthew expected if those in King's Landing witnessed it, all of them would be torn apart by a rabid mob.

"After the festivities are over with, perhaps we can donate the uneaten food to the smallfolk," Matthew suggested. "Have them see us together and enjoy our generosity." Now that King's Landing was no longer in imminent danger of starvation, he hoped the gesture would be more effective.

"An excellent idea, husband." Margaery grabbed his arm. "I admit, the subtleties of politics can be lost on me, but. . ."

"I know you far too well." Matthew chuckled. "You know them better than I can ever hope to."

"I appreciate the compliment, Joffrey. Are you sure you don't intend to eat anything?" Matthew's stomach growled at her words.

"I'm far too happy with my new wife to even think about food." Matthew lied. He'd endured far worse hunger in the past. Going without for a few hours wouldn't bother him any. Matthew paid only scant attention to the entertainment, primarily jesters who performed for the crowd's benefit. A pair danced in front of him, juggling eggs while standing on a single foot.

However, his eyes were on the servants. If he had intended to poison someone, the servant would be blissfully unaware, being told whatever the poison was that it was merely an ingredient. While foolish, Matthew knew plenty of fools worked in the castle. _And plenty of greedy fools. _Brutal as the consequences were, plenty would risk them.

Margaery planted a brief kiss on his lips, surprising him. "I trust you're enjoying yourself, husband." She smiled. "I expect you're eager for the bedding ceremony."

Truth be told, he'd forgotten all about it. "No worries, I'll be gentle with you." Matthew doubted she was a maid but would treat her as such anyway.

"My Grandmother informed me of what I was to do. You really should visit Highgarden. We'd all be honored to have you." Margaery frowned. "I am a bit nervous. You are kind, of course, but other husbands. . ."

"I am not them, and if you don't feel comfortable, there only needs to be a ceremony. I know you've had ambitions of being Queen for a long time, but with it comes the chains of commanding."

"Most wise, Your Grace. I am grateful we were able to put aside our previous differences." Margaery ate a light meal, paying most of her attention to the crowd. Matthew gave her a kiss for the benefit of those watching.

In the corner of his eye, Matthew spotted someone who he believed was Melisandre, wearing a red dress unlike her usual attire. Several men attempted to get her attention, but no one gave any sign of recognizing her.

She made eye contact with him and walked toward him, focused on nothing else. Margaery raised an eyebrow at Matthew's action. "Is my beauty insufficient, Joffrey?" She kept her tone light, but Matthew picked up her hostility.

"How are things going?" Matthew nodded at Melisandre.

"This is quite a celebration." Melisandre visibly struggled not to resort to religious rhetoric. Her bracelet was hidden underneath the dress, though the red jewel could still be seen through the fabric. "I haven't had any occasion to participate before, however." Her red eyes still scared Matthew a little.

"Have you encountered any problems?" Both knew what Matthew intended to ask.

Instead of responding, Melisandre downed Margaery's drink in a single gulp. His wife sat stone-faced, keeping a tight grip on Matthew's hand. "To your good health, Your Grace." She disappeared without another word. _I'll take that as a no. _

"Who is that woman?" Margaery allowed her anger to show.

"Someone I asked to keep an eye on things." If she couldn't recognize Melisandre, Matthew wasn't about to enlighten her. "I received a recent threat and wanted to make sure someone took things seriously."

"You think someone would dare harm you at a wedding?" Margaery appeared amused. "Perhaps I should be flattered at your protection."

"Greatness inspires envy, envy inspires hate." Matthew shrugged. _And Tyrion would be smart enough to hightail it out before the deed was done. _Many hated the dwarf, but few took him seriously, Tywin least of all.

Oberyn approached Matthew alongside his niece. "Congratulations on the wedding, Your Grace." He wore a smile, contrasting with his hard-edged expression. 

"Thank you, Lord Martell. I will take it in the spirit for which it's intended." Matthew nodded. Several men at the celebration looked over Arianne's gown, showing more skin than any other women there.

"Your Grace, I hope this means there are better days ahead." Ellaria Sand declared, lacking the same hatred as the prince.

"As do I, Ellaria." Much as Oberyn despised him, Matthew hoped he'd behave himself with his niece and paramour within his grasp.

"I hope we won't have to leave too quickly," Arianne sized Margaery up. "We can still serve you despite our arrangement cancelled." Margaery's face went red at the implication.

"Thank you for the kind offer." Matthew didn't want any unnecessary trouble, but the Martells had a different plan in mind. Gregor Clegane was only days away from King's Landing, and he intended to fulfill that promise, at least. The man was fearsome, but too uncontrolled.

Tywin collapsed against the table with a cough, vomiting out what Matthew quickly realized was blood. "Oh, shit!" He cursed and hopped down from his chair, forgetting Margaery. Tywin stuck two fingers into his mouth, his elegant clothing now a mess.

Jaime pushed the table aside, horrified gasps echoing throughout the room. "Help him!" Cersei demanded while others screamed for Pycelle to assist.

"What happened?" Margaery clutched at Matthew's sleeve.

"Not now, my love." Matthew removed her grip and marched toward his grandfather, though he knew it would do no good. _Son of a bitch! _He'd assumed he would be the target of Tyrion's wrath, since Matthew knew that part of the story, but Tyrion had outsmarted him.

Tywin forced himself to his feet and tried to say something, only to vomit blood a second time. With a pained face, he crashed onto the floor, convulsing. Bits of intestine littered the floor. Matthew watched him with a calm voice, announcing: "My grandfather has just been poisoned."

"Get up, Father!" Cersei demanded, cradling him in her eyes. Tywin's eyes filled with blood, no longer possessing the strength to speak.

"Get Tommen and Myrcella out of here," Matthew ordered Barristan. "I don't want them to see this." He hastened to carry out his request. Everyone at the wedding surrounded Tywin, though Matthew observed many who only feigned horror. Two women fainted in their husband's arms. _I've seen far better performances. _

Matthew put two fingers against Tywin's wrist, feeling for a pulse. The man coughed, convulsed, and moved no more. Jaime paced around his father's body, hand on his sword, looking for a visible enemy to lash out against. Those at court backed away from the Kingslayer, fearing his wrath. Men shouted useless advice at each other while Matthew stared at Tywin's body.

_He'd refused to listen and now he's dead. _Matthew wouldn't mourn the man but it meant he was in a far more perilous position. He caught Melisandre in the crowd, wondering why she hadn't seen this in the flames. _This is what you've dreamed about all along, hasn't it, Tyrion?_

"Are you all right, son?" Cersei hugged him, tears in her eyes. "Please. . ." She attempted to take him away from the scene. Jaime watched with similar concern, reminding Matthew he was technically their son.

"I'll be fine." Matthew refused to budge. "I thought. . . the Imp would target me, not Grandfather." And Tyrion was long gone, away from justice. "We need to make arrangements for his funeral." Why Tyrion suddenly decided to act, he did not know.

Guilt clouded Jaime's expression. "I will stand watch over him. He deserves that much."

"I will ensure he is avenged!" Cersei promised, looking over at Oberyn, who had yet to change expression. A mixture of Gold Cloaks and Matthew's personal troops rushed into the room, spears and swords ready. "They did this! They worked alongside my brother to kill him! Kill them! Kill them now!"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Matthew raised a hand to stop them. _Not yet, at least. _"But I hope the Red Viper has an excellent explanation, Your Grace."

"Have you sunk so low as to slaughter your guests?" Oberyn moved to shield his niece and paramour, hand reaching into his clothing.

"Men, escort our guests to the tower cells." Forty men with spears surrounded the Red Viper, ending any thought of resistance. Matthew didn't know if he was involved, but few had greater motivation than Oberyn Martell.

"I have done nothing but cooperate with the Crown." Oberyn prepared a dagger, for all the good it was likely to do him.

"Pray I don't find out otherwise." Matthew's guards stripped Oberyn of his dagger. "Once at the tower cells, search their clothing and tell me everything they carry." He never once raised his voice through the fiasco.

Once his orders were obeyed, Matthew turned back to Tywin's corpse. Some of the guests had already left, as the man was little loved by his fellows. "We will find out the truth, no matter what it takes. The Imp cannot have acted alone. Continue searching the walls for Varys." If the Spider was caught, Matthew intended to arrange a punishment the Gods themselves would cry at.

XXXXXXXXXX

Tyrion waddled across the deck of the Meereense Knot, impatient for the journey to be completed. He did not dare look over the side, for he had already vomited too many times as a result of it. _They couldn't even spare me any wine. _One of many pleasures he had been forced to deprive himself of, at least for now.

Fortunately, the crew was compromised of individuals who asked no questions, so long as they were paid. At least a few had to be suspicious, but Tyrion had not suffered any interrogation. He patted the gold and gems still in his pockets, confident further bribes would take him where he needed to go.

_How did it feel, Tywin, to see the life leave your eyes? _A part of Tyrion wished he could have witnessed it for himself. After how the man had treated him his entire life, he considered he'd earned such catharsis. However, it was considered too risky, and thus, Tyrion refrained from indulging. He allowed himself a small smile, imagining the pain the Lannister patriarch suffered.

With the deaths of Tywin Lannister and Margaery Tyrell, any hope of an alliance would be shattered. Those who remained would be helpless, too divided to pose a major threat. Even the King's new inventions wouldn't matter. _I doubt they'll stand up against dragons. _Margaery was an unfortunate victim, but it had to be done.

A part of him regretted turning against whoever inhabited his nephew's body. Even after their relationship soured, he was still kinder than most in King's Landing. Not that it said very much.

Tyrion felt his stomach rumble and retreated below deck. The seas were calm for now, but he knew how quickly that could change. Many ships were sunk due to unexpected storms, and all he could do was pray they wouldn't be among them.

_Wherever whores go. . . _Tyrion wondered if he would ever see Tysha again, if he would even recognize her after so many years. She had loved him when no else did, which Tywin couldn't tolerate. _I should have stood up to Tywin then. _

In the end, it didn't matter. He paid the man back for everything he endured. Daenerys would be open to give him everything he wanted. _And she'll find my price a modest one. _When it came to his siblings. . . Tyrion had something special planned for them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Decided to skip the long journey in A Dance With Dragons and just have Tyrion show up in Slaver's Bay. Considering all the trouble GRRM had with it, it seemed the best option. Thought of having a brief scene in the North, but that can wait a chapter or two.


	30. A Terrible Resolve

Decided to explore Tyrion's darker traits, especially with who we see in "A Dance With Dragons." Even before then, he threatened to rape Tommen, considered doing so before finding out the boy was free from his grasp, and had a bard murdered. Afterward, he tormented prostitutes, poisoned a slave master, and joins Daenerys out of nothing more than revenge. Should be interesting to play with.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Traces of poison has been found on both your Grandfather's and Margaery's glasses," Pycelle concluded while Matthew sat in quiet rage, considering his next move. "No doubt the depraved dwarf chose them for maximum damage. You are, of course. . ."

"Spare me the ass-kissing," Matthew responded in a cold voice, looking at his Kingsguard, Jaime, Cersei, Pycelle, Melisandre, and the remainder of the Small Council. "What I want to know is why the Imp decided to act."

"My brother has always been a traitor, my son," Cersei attempted to reassure, though did not touch him. "He's always wanted us to suffer, from the moment he was born." Jaime did not wear his usual smile, unable to hide his guilty look.

"You have something you want to share, Uncle?" Matthew had a guess what happened, but wanted to hear it from him.

"He. . . confronted me about an old story," Jaime struggled to look at Matthew's face. "About what happened to his first wife. I do not know why he asked, but. . . I told him the truth, after fifteen years of lies. Father took it badly when Tyrion married a peasant girl."

"And you didn't think to inform me of this?" Matthew trembled, hardly daring to believe Jaime's stupidity.

"I never imagined he'd go so far as to murder him," Jaime lowered his eyes to the floor. Cersei hissed at him but otherwise remained quiet. No one else knew what to say.

"A man who has hated his father his entire life has just been told an ugly truth, and you didn't even consider the Imp would take revenge?" Matthew refused to use his name.

"All is not lost, Your Grace." Pycelle promised. "Queen Margaery has survived the attempt."

"The Lord of Light warned me of your Uncle's intentions, though I did not realize he targeted two people." Melisandre announced. "I drank the poison to save the Queen's life and thwart the little man's plan."

"Clearly, you did a fantastic job of it," Matthew deadpanned. With Tywin dead and Tyrion on the way to Daenerys, he was more vulnerable than ever. Not even when Renly attempted to batter down the gates did he feel so helpless. While he felt no pity for Tywin on a personal level, he had been a capable administrator "Jaime, you are a member of the Kingsguard, and you have failed in your duty."

"His love for the Imp has blinded him," Cersei spat. "You should have warned our father!"

"How was I to know? No one is more damned than a Kingslayer!" Jaime placed his hands against the table.

"Those who prepared the food have been rounded up and are awaiting questioning," Balon remarked. "Where he obtained the poison has yet to be learned."

"The Spider still lurks within these walls, Your Grace," Pycelle doddered.

"When I find him, he's going to beg for death by the time I'm done," Matthew promised. "At least with the wedding, our alliance will keep us stable, at least in the short term." _Useless. All of them, useless._ Despite everything he'd done, they continued to sabotage him.

"About that. . ." Jaime winced. "Lady Margaery has. . . reconsidered the marriage in light of the assassination attempt."

_Of course she has. As if this couldn't get worse. _"So you're telling me all my efforts have been for nothing?" His voice fell to a whisper. A bunch of nervous glances filled the room. "Tywin is dead, Margaery is backing out, all because I AM SURROUNDED BY INCOMPETENT FOOLS!" All his rage came forward at once.

Matthew got to his feet, pacing around the room. "Since I took my throne, all any of you have done is make my life difficult! Not one of you has a single shred of honor! The Kingsguard, my relatives, the Grand Maester!" he spat on the floor.

"Your Grace, I must protest. . ." Barristan frowned.

"Shut up, old man! All of you knew what the Imp was capable of, yet none of you did a damn thing about it! Varys continues to elude you, my enemies regroup in the North, the Mad Queen intends to take her father's throne, and what have you bastards done about it, except to get in my way?!" Joffrey roared with approval inside Matthew's head.

"So this is what it has come to! Everyone around me is lying! I have been deceived from the very beginning! Those who surround me are nothing but sycophants and cowards!"

"Your Grace, we have done everything in our ability. . ." Balon protested.

"TO GET IN MY WAY, TO HINDER MY PLANS!" Matthew bellowed, spraying saliva all over the room. "For years, that's all my subordinates have done, with their plots and schemes and foolishness! What I should have done once the Throne was mine was liquidate the entire Small Council! Varys, Littlefinger, everyone!" Pycelle blanched at this, knowing the implications.

"I defeated Renly when he had eight times my numbers! I defeated Stark when my Grandfather and all the experienced commanders failed! I formed the alliance with Braavos! I changed the face of warfare! I saw the threat Daenerys posed! While all of you played with your thumbs, waiting to stab me in the back! And Tyrion. . . I should have bathed him in wildfire the moment he entered King's Landing, like Qarlton Chested!"

Jaime put his hand to his sword at the mention of a previous hand Aerys had burned alive. Matthew spread his arms apart. "Go ahead, Uncle, kill me if you've got the courage! You're already a Kingslayer; do it! I'm surrounded by traitors! It won't be long until one of them succeeds in killing me!

"Everything I've done, all I've accomplished, soon to fall apart because no one else can see the big picture! I am the only one here who can use his brain for something besides filling the space between his ears! The least useless one of you is a religious fanatic!" Matthew pointed to Melisandre, knowing she'd prevented the disaster from being total. "May the Gods have mercy on us, because Daenerys and whatever the hell lies up north won't!" Skeptical eyes stared at each other but none dared to interrupt him.

"If they want a fight, then by God, I'll give them one. I'll find that traitorous death, and he'll beg for death by the time I'm done! I show mercy, I offer reconciliation, and they spit in my face! Never again will I be so foolish! It's nothing but fear and terror that keep the Kingdoms in line!" Matthew spat on the ground. "That's what honor is worth in this world, for all its pretty words and vows! Only fear matters!"

Matthew felt his energy disappear and sank into a chair. "I've crushed all my enemies in battle. Defeated the undefeatable. And yet things keep getting worse. But those who surround me will not find me easy prey. My hopes for improving this shithole of a continent are dead. Only steel and fire remains." He waited for those surrounding him to say something. . . or shove a sword in his back.

Several minutes of awkward silence ensued. Matthew gave brief consideration to purging the Small Council, as he'd threatened, but he doubted it would do much. _I'd be replacing the current batch of idiots with a new batch of idiots. _

Uncertain what to do next, Matthew pushed his chair aside and walked out, not bothering to see how any of them would respond. Melisandre hurried to follow him, staring at him with an emotion he could not detect. "Your Grace, I would like the honor of escorting you."

"Do whatever you like." Matthew didn't have the energy to argue. There was still one more thing he had to take care of.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Life enjoys its ironies. _Oberyn stretched his body along the cot. Inside the tower cells, things weren't too bad, save for the silence. However tempting it was to speak, he knew every word was being monitored. It threatened to drive him mad, which he expected Joffrey was counting on.

Despite momentary satisfaction, Oberyn privately confessed his disappointment. He'd hoped to see Tywin dead at his own hand, perhaps cutting Elia's name into his flesh, only for his hated dwarf son to act first. _Should I thank him for it or kill him for taking my opportunity from me? _Either way, it worked well for him, for it meant the Lannisters would destroy each other. He hadn't anticipated such dysfunction among them, but it would leave them vulnerable.

In the meantime, there was little for him to do but wait and see. _Ellaria, Arianne. . . I never should have brought them to King's Landing. _Oberyn hadn't anticipated being imprisoned for a murder he didn't commit, nor that a wedding would be so eventful.

Footsteps echoed outside the tower cells, stopping at his. Oberyn braced himself for whatever the King had planned for him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"If it isn't my favorite prisoner," Joffrey spoke in a calm voice. Oberyn saw no sign of the Kingsguard, but instead the red woman who had taken to following the King around. He had heard rumors at court she was bewitching him, but previously discounted them.

"Where's your Kingsguard?" Oberyn challenged. _I didn't think you'd have the courage to face me without them. _

"They haven't proven themselves reliable, and aren't best suited for this job, anyway." Joffrey spoke in a dangerous tone. "I hope you can convince me you weren't responsible for the death of my grandfather."

"My condolences for his death, Your Grace," Oberyn lied. "We may have had our differences, but Tywin was a formidable man." That at least was true.

"Yes, and there are few who had more reason to kill him than you," Joffrey continued as though he hadn't spoken. Oberyn considered attacking the young man until the woman stared at him, eyes boring into his skull. He couldn't explain why, but it frightened him more than any of the Kingsguard could. "And you're not known as the Red Viper for nothing. Pycelle has conducted an examination and concluded the poison is of Dornish origin."

"I do not murder with poison, Your Grace. Poison is a woman's weapon."

"Both your paramour and niece qualify. They send their regards, by the way." Oberyn's face darkened at the implication.

"Good to hear they're doing well. If word got out you were mistreating my niece. . . my brother is a peaceful man, but he wouldn't take that well at all."

"I listened to Ellaria plead your innocence and beg for your life. Arianne likewise has all the comfort that can be provided. She tried seducing me, in fact, wishing to know how you were." Joffrey gave a dark chuckle. "I refused, of course. She's in no position to bargain. And neither are you.

"While I was not fond of your grandfather, I did not poison him." Oberyn considered his next move, cursing the dwarf. No doubt Tyrion decided to frame him for the act as well. "I am hardly one to break hospitality."

Joffrey acted as though he hadn't spoken. "Mace Tyrell will want you dead once he gets the news and I see no reason to refuse his request. He's protective of his daughter and as you've already mutilated one of his sons, I don't believe he'll be inclined toward mercy."

"I am an innocent man, Your Grace, who had only the intention of crowning my niece Queen."

"I made that offer, back when I was naïve enough to think the cycle of revenge could be broken." Joffrey narrowed his eyes. "But you've proved that will not happen, even with my grandfather's death. I prefer peace, and yet those who surround me want war."

"Then I would suggest releasing me. If I die, or if Arianne dies, the full might of Dorne will march to King's Landing." Even in Dorne, a bastard's death would not spark the same outrage, so Oberyn did not mention his paramour.

"Oh, yes, the vaunted might of Dorne. If you were half as strong as you claimed to be, Doran would have marched North when my forces were distracted with the Starks. No, you don't have the strength to be a threat to me. You have no power, for all your bluster."

Oberyn wondered how Joffrey saw through that. While their land provided excellent defensive terrain, it also meant launching an attack was extremely difficult. "I won't pretend to mourn, but if I was to poison a man, why would I use one that led straight to me?"

"Interesting point, but you're known for being rash, not using your head." Joffrey remarked. "I wouldn't put it past you at all to do something so foolish. You're famous for screwing half the continent. Perhaps you seduced one of the servants. . . or Arianne did. Too many boys and men think with their cocks and nothing else."

"Did anyone catch me in the kitchen or claim I was there?" Oberyn had spent as little time as possible near anyone in King's Landing. "Your grandfather was responsible for countless atrocities, and I imagine many would like to see him die."

"Clegane will be arriving in King's Landing in a couple days." Joffrey dodged his statement. Oberyn boiled with hatred at the giant, dreaming of seeing him suffer for what he'd done to Elia, her children, and countless others. "You'll be meeting him. How you meet him. . . depends on how cooperative you are."

"I came here in good faith to negotiate a marriage." Oberyn wondered if Joffrey had planned this all along, trapping two members of the Martell family. He suppressed at shudder at the thought of Clegane near his niece or paramour. "You don't have any evidence I did anything!"

"Then perhaps I should question you more sharply." The red woman approached Oberyn, making him jump back. The woman was taller than he was, and possessing an aura of power that filled the room.

"You truly are his grandson." Oberyn knew for all his bravado, torture would eventually get him to confess. "For a man of peace, you seem eager to spark renewed conflict."

"If you want peace, prepare for war." Joffrey shrugged. Oberyn had the feeling he was quoting someone else. The woman gripped his shoulder, sending heat through his skin.

"If you will not allow me to prove my innocence, then I demand a Trial By Combat!" If Clegane was his champion, he could expose the truth, as he'd dreamed of for more than eighteen years.

"You have that right, of course, but you will face Loras Tyrell. I don't think that's a battle you'll win, and even if you do, what will Willas say once he discovers you've killed his brother? Mace Tyrell will want your blood, fair combat or not. The oaf does like to hold a grudge."

Oberyn ground his teeth, knowing he was cornered. He was always tempted to go through it anyway, but. . . having the Tyrells on the warpath wouldn't suit Doran's long-term plans. _He's been planning too long. _Oberyn scoffed. "I am not responsible for Tywin's death, however much I would like to claim the credit. You will not get me to say otherwise."

"Should I believe you?" Joffrey mused.

"Unless you have absolute proof, which you do not, we are wasting our time here." Despite his bravado, Oberyn knew his brother could not act, at least not immediately.

"Doran will plot and scheme and take so long, by the time he's finished, my brother will die of old age."

"If you haven't killed me, it means you want something from me." Fortunately, Joffrey didn't know of plans to ally with Daenerys.

"Your guilt is already assumed at court, and few will defend the Red Viper. Seems you've amassed a reputation. No, you're going to stay here as incentive for Doran's cooperation."

"Hostages, then."

"I considered sending you to the Wall, but a treacherous subordinate might ensure your death, and make things worse for me."

"This is how you treat someone you once intended to marry?" Oberyn weighed his options. The woman appeared unarmed, but he had the strong feeling she possessed strength few others did.

"I underestimated the hatred your family holds toward mine. Now that I see it plain, I don't intend to give you any opportunities."

"And Arianne and Tommen?"

"I'm certainly not going to marry my brother to a traitor's niece." When Oberyn opened his mouth to object, Joffrey added: "Your guilt is already assumed, and some of my advisors want me to execute you as a warning to others."

"Do I at least get my freedom, or am I going to spend my life inside a cell?"

"Give me a reason, and you'll learn what it's like in the Black Cells." Joffrey warned. "I will, however, release your paramour and niece, provided you behave yourself. And I promised you Clegane. That part, at least, I will keep."

"Your words mean nothing, abomination. I know the truth of your birth, however much you try to discredit the rumors." Oberyn grinned. "Or do you not know who your parents truly are?"

"I thought you smart enough not to listen to rumors. Clegane is a beast, but one with no restraint, so you can have him. Sandor is just as capable and feared without the mindless sadism. Behave yourself, or I'll change my mind on that too."

XXXXXXXXXX

_I've become a monster. _Matthew looked at his hands, soaked in blood. If he'd done half the things as a soldier he'd done as King, Matthew knew he'd be serving multiple life sentences for war crimes. _And yet there rarely seems to be another choice in the matter. _Showing mercy had repeatedly backfired on him. However, he couldn't silence the voice whispering they were mere excuses.

Matthew stood alone, in the midst of enemies. Dorne, Daenerys, the Starks, the danger beyond the Wall. . . and only the Westerlands to stand against them. He had his doubts whether the technology he came up with would be enough. _Politics is not my forte. _He had no good decisions ahead of him, only bad ones.

"There's not enough money to do what you're proposing, Your Grace," Stannis informed him. Since Tywin's death, he had no further reservations about joining the Small Council. "The additional taxes will not last forever, so I recommend we put them into one-time projects."

"What we need is some form of stability, and I'm confident my great uncle can fill in whatever gaps there are in funds," Matthew continued, trying to show energy he didn't feel. "I don't intend to be my father and drive us into debt from something with no substance." King's Landing was marginally cleaner as a result of digging tunnels for waste, and he hoped to design at least the beginnings of a sewer system. "We are in the eye of the storm, and I don't intend to be idle."

"You are, of course, correct." Melisandre spoke. Matthew didn't like having her in Small Council meetings, but she'd proven herself to be less useless than most. "To face the trials ahead of us, we must act now."

"Mining on Dragonstone is improving, though forging obsidian into weapons is a ponderous task," Stannis added. "Inside the capital, at least, theft and corruption is down now that the Gold Cloaks realize they can no longer get away with such things."

"Be sure and let the nobles know the same thing." Matthew's eyes looked over the Small Council, who sent an undercurrent of fear. Since his rant about how he should have killed them all, none dared to contradict him. "I expect many of them are stealing as well."

"There are few honest men in King's Landing." Stannis ground his teeth. "I told my brother to act, yet he was more interested in drinking and feasting then. . ."

"Yes, I'm aware, but let's focus on the present." Matthew interrupted. "Grand Maester, I trust my orders to both maesters and midwives are being followed, and that the results are bearing fruit?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Pycelle nodded and bowed. "I am pleased to report that infant mortality has fallen by thirty-one percent, although in some cases, there is little that can be done. I have, of course, made sure everyone follows your orders." Pycelle didn't appear convinced it was necessary, but Matthew didn't care, so long as his orders were followed.

"You're holding something back," Matthew picked up on it immediately.

"Your Grace. . . many of the Maesters in Oldtown have taken offense to your orders. They accuse you of. . . considering them unclean." Pycelle shook, fearing Matthew's wrath.

"Is this entire continent run by fools?" Matthew lowered his voice.

"I tried to explain your orders, Your Grace, but they were adamant. Only. . . only some of the Maesters in training are willing to do as you ask."

_If it's not one thing, it's another. _"Maesters spend so much time studying the old, they don't pause to consider the new. Perhaps the new generation will be a little more open to the idea. Have you sent them the results from King's Landing?"

"They do not believe them, Your Grace." Pycelle looked away.

"Very well, we will have to convince them." Much as he wanted to force the issue, Matthew knew his power wasn't absolute. Considering how long it took people in his world to accept the existence of germs and the importance of handwashing, he didn't expect it to be a short task.

"Your Grace, the longships require maintenance, and a few are beyond any repair," Davos Seaworth, his Master of Ships, declared. "I recommend you use some of the funds to both repair and expand our fleet."

"How long will that take and how much will it cost?" Matthew considered both the annual revenue and expenses. Much as he wanted to avoid further debt, it was probably unavoidable.

"Your Grace, I've little knowledge of sums, but. . ." Davos stammered. The interim Master of Coin took the piece of paper, which Davos struggled to read.

"To do what he wants, it'll cost us approximately 25,000 gold dragons and take two years to repair the fleet, taking into account paying salaries and the construction of an additional dozen vessels."

"All right, we'll start repairing the vessels you deem salvageable." Matthew decided. Too many projects, not enough money.

The rest of the Small Council meeting was fairly routine, debating economics, using what little time remained to prepare for winter, and the day-to-day upkeep required to keep King's Landing in working order. Unlike before, only Stannis was willing to argue with him.

Once the meeting concluded, the Small Council practically tripped over themselves attempting to flee from his presence. Matthew kept his face expressionless, knowing he'd have to keep an eye on them. _At least a couple will probably plot against me. _Perhaps he shouldn't have screamed, but it could not be undone.

Only Barristan, Stannis, and Melisandre remained in the room. Matthew met Barristan's eyes and spoke: "Ser Barristan. . . I apologize for my earlier outburst. It was out of grief for my grandfather's death and my own foolishness for trusting the dwarf."

"Understood, Your Grace." Barristan revealed no emotion. Matthew felt a ping of sympathy for him, spending his life serving unworthy Kings, including himself. "Your job is a difficult one."

His Kingsguard, at least on the surface, did their duty as always. However, Matthew hadn't forgotten how Jaime's hand went for his sword, even if it wasn't drawn. "It is, but you, at least, have served me well and given me honest counsel." Barristan nodded in acceptance of the apology and waited outside the room for him.

Matthew caught a glance of ten members of his personal guard, four of whom carried muskets. Considering recent events, he intended to have all the protection he could. _Assuming it'll matter in the end. _His days were likely numbered, but he'd do as much good as possible before the end.

"Have anything to say to me, Stannis?" The man gripped his chair.

"Only that you remember my previous promise," Stannis warned. "The realm has already suffered from one Mad King. Even if it costs my life, I will not allow that."

"I am in control, Uncle." Matthew knew the threat. Joffrey behaved himself, as Matthew's threat to kill them both was not an idle one. "Now I believe the rest of the day involves mediating peasant disputes." Despite his annoyed sigh, he preferred it to Small Council meetings.

"Even if the Iron Throne is mine by right, I am relieved to have it not be my burden. I witnessed what it did to my brother, and the Mad King before him. Take care not to let the same thing happen to you."

"The coming storm will require both of you if we wish to have a chance of survival," Melisandre whispered.

"So am I Azor Ahai now?" Matthew wanted to scoff. He knew how out of his depth he was when it came to magic and prophecy. "I've read enough stories to know prophecies never mean what you think they do."

"I do not know what you are, only that you play a vital role," Melisandre answered. "For that reason, I insisted Stannis form an alliance with you. What does it matter who has the Iron Throne if none are living on Omelos?" 

"Well, I don't have many allies, so thank you." Matthew knew it would cause enormous trouble in the future. And he suspected Melisandre had an agenda of her own. However, day to day survival was difficult enough without that. He'd deal with it when it came. "I trust you can restrain your more enthusiastic followers." 

"I will convey your orders." Melisandre nodded.

"I'm serious. I don't intend to tolerate religious conflict." Matthew expected such an act would be inevitable, but intended to minimize it the best he could. _If it's possible. . . _He knew what developed in the books, along with countless examples on Earth.

_Can't give up, tempting as it is. Faced overwhelming odds back in Indonesia and made it through. Westeros is different, but it'll require the same kind of will. _Matthew considered his next move, with Melisandre watching over him. He still felt a bit frightened in her presence, but if not for her, things would have been much worse. "Thank you for saving Lady Margaery's life." I apologize for not saying that before."

"Thanks are unnecessary. I go where the Lord of Light commands me," Melisandre responded. "I promise, there is nothing to fear when I am at your side."

"Nice to know." Matthew left to his next duty, which was mediating in peasant disputes. Despite the dullness of it, he preferred it to Small Council meetings, as they had few stakes attached to them. Disputes over property, feuds, business rivals were small potatoes compared to everything else.

All of them blurred together, with only a couple sticking into his brain. Once the sun set, Matthew dismissed those who had yet to have their cases heard. "Your Grace. . ." A man tried to plead but a single glance silenced him.

Those in court watched him with terror. Matthew expected all of them had heard about his rant. _Perhaps it'll motivate them to be a little less blatant about their corruption. _

"There is much I have to do, and I wish not to be disturbed," Matthew ordered his Kingsguard.

Inside his chambers, Matthew busied himself with paperwork, struggling with a hundred things at once. With much of the Small Council replaced, he had been forced to do much of their jobs himself. He kept a wary eye on the door, still unconvinced the Kingsguard would overlook his furious rant. Beneath his bed was a musket, which would allow him to take at least one of them out.

Matthew raised his hand at the sound of footsteps. Soft, quiet, almost silent, but he'd had too many enemies try and sneak up on him to miss them. _It's someone trying to stay quiet. _He stayed at the desk, his hand curling around a dagger.

The door opened to reveal Margaery Tyrell. "What are you doing here, My Lady?" Matthew looked into her eyes. "I'd given orders I was not to be disturbed."

"These are my chambers as well now," Margaery smiled. "They asked no questions when I entered."

"I thought you intended to annul our marriage." _Or are you here to kill me? _

"I gave it serious thought," Margaery nodded, sitting down next to him. "If not for your advisor, I would be dead right now. But. . . that is exactly what the dwarf wanted, isn't it?"

"He knew how to hurt us the most," Matthew expected Tywin was payback while Margaery's death would ensure a shattered alliance. "Tyrion wants to destroy us all."

"And he wanted me dead to accomplish it." Margaery's eyes narrowed. "I take attempts on my life very personally, and my Father will want his head."

"Does this mean you have changed your mind?" Matthew kept his voice cautious. He'd gotten his hopes up too many times, only to have them shatter once more.

"Yes." Margaery held his hands. "In planning to annul our marriage, I would be sending a weakness to your enemies. And now your enemies are my enemies. Tyrion wanted us at each other's throats. We will not give him what he wants."

"We still have many enemies to defeat. One day soon, Daenerys will cross the Narrow Sea."

"If she wishes to die, we can oblige her." Margaery wore an evil smile. Matthew saw the steel underneath her appearance for the first time. "I hope our arrangement is still in place."

"It is." Matthew hid his delight. "And Winter is Coming, as the Starks are fond of saying. We must come together if we are to survive, and send a message to those who wish to see us burn."

"Once my Grandmother discovers what happened, there's nowhere on Omelos Tyrion can hide," Margaery stroked his hand. "I know she appears to be a rude old woman, but she's very capable of holding a grudge."

"No, I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her either." Matthew chuckled, remembering what happened to the Canon Joffrey. "So, are you expecting a bedding ceremony?"

"If you wish to arrange one, Your Grace." Margaery brushed her hand across his face. "If not. . . we can begin now. You've won the throne, Your Grace, but you'll need help to keep it."

"I almost feel sorry for anyone who gets in your way." Matthew kissed her lips. "Almost." He wasn't going to let those lurking in the shadows with knives stop him from what needed to be done. No doubt the Tyrells would demand more concessions, but Tyrion's attempt had backfired on him. _You think I'm finished now? _Matthew made a promise to his enemies. _I have not yet begun to fight. _

XXXXXXXXXX

Turns out Tyrion wasn't quite as clever as he believed. Not to say Matthew has an easy path ahead, but things are looking up for the first time. Starting to understand how GRRM writes such huge epics. I'm using relatively few of his characters and the story's already enormous.


	31. Chapter 31

I know it's been close to two months since I've updated. Between my original projects and dealing with personal issues, however, I haven't had much time to work on this. Hopefully, the next update won't take nearly as long.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Things are finally starting to come together," Matthew observed his personal army, which had grown to 10,000 individuals. All of them marched in formation, a combination of pikes and muskets. On the flanks rode Lannister cavalry, the only individuals who wore more than leather armor.

Four layers of pikemen stood in front of three ranks of muskets. Matthew now possessed 1,500 flintlocks, and construction speed increased every day. His plans was to have at least 50% muskets by next year, and was cautious optimistic they would reach their target.

Behind the main formation and on the flanks were cannons and howitzers, the latter of which were designed for anti-dragon tactics. Few of his men wore uniforms, but Matthew considered that a low priority. With more than sixty artillery pieces in total, he was well-prepared for future threats.

"I am most impressed, Your Grace." Margaery had insisted on coming along. "But do you think they will stand up in true combat?"

"Some of them already have." Matthew knew his wife intended to evaluate them as a threat. Despite their marriage, their alliance was an uneasy one at best. "Most have risen from nothing and look at them now."

"Few would be so daring as to comprise an army of smallfolk." Margaery nodded in acknowledgement. Matthew refused to tolerate incompetence, promoting subordinates strictly on merit.

He galloped his horse in front, displaying his authority. Many of his army stared at him with respect and even admiration, thanks to a generous paycheck and decent, albeit strict, treatment. "Thank you all for your service." Matthew nodded, with everyone on foot going to one knee. "There is only one more thing to say: will you follow me into fire? Will you follow me into darkness? Will you follow me into death?"

"Yes, Your Grace!" A chorus erode from them. Matthew had them swear a vow to him alone, not including to let a usurper take charge. _Wonder when the next attempt will be. _Things had settled down for now, but Matthew knew that wouldn't last. _Peace is that glorious moment in history where everyone stands around reloading. _

Matthew marched his army into King's Landing, the gates already open. Pride swelled within him at how far they had come. He'd already worked out numerous anti-dragon tactics for when Daenerys arrived and her inexperience would be a crucial weakness when the time came. Robb was a much more skilled commander and Matthew had beaten him.

He dared to take a deep breath upon entering the city. While the streets were still covered in human and horse manure, visible progress had been made. Matthew gave a slight nod of approval witnessing townspeople dump their chamber pots in the tunnels. While a proper sewer system would take years to implement, it was a marked improvement.

Within the septs of King's Landing, Matthew spotted fewer individuals than he would have expected in a medieval society. A few of his men muttered underneath their breaths but stayed quiet. "I hardly recognize the city now," Margaery complimented. "We will begin implementing this at Highgarden and Oldtown immediately."

"No doubt you have enough gold to afford it." Matthew expected his wife mentioned it at least partially as a threat. "King's Landing is meant to be a symbol of Westeros, not a cesspool." He pointed to a pair of public baths being constructed. "Do you possess any of those?"

"A few small ones, though I am curious as to why you pour perfectly good wine inside them." Margaery turned to smile at him. "But every King is allowed a few eccentricities."

"Oh, I have my reasons." Matthew could only enforce his edicts about germ theory in the Crownlands and Westerlands, thanks to Kevan Lannister becoming convinced of the political advantage.

During their journey, Matthew looked over banners belonging to the followers of the Lord of Light. While open bloodshed had thus far been avoided, he considered it only a matter of time. Two men in red preached the Lord of Light's word, though they appeared to have no genuine powers, as Melisandre did.

Civilians possessed fuller bellies and greater safety, although still malnourished by 21st century standards. Matthew nodded to those who hailed him, the Kingsguard ready for any possible trouble. His rule had begun to stabilize, which allowed him to make proper preparations for Daenerys.

_So long as I make sure Oberyn and Arianne don't escape. _Matthew expected Dorne would be furious at a perceived trap, but it wasn't as if they could hate him more than they already did. A cycle of revenge couldn't be broken unless both parties agreed to it.

Margaery looked back at the cannons. "Such marvelous devices, Your Grace. Perhaps my family can have one or two, help solidify our new alliance."

"You've done a lot to get back into my good graces, but one thing at a time." The Reach possessed over twice the men the Westerlands did and Matthew wasn't positive he could count on the Stormlands to keep them in check. If he could build such weapons, others would also have the ability. "Perhaps when a son is born to me."

"You've made little effort on that front, I'm afraid, Your Grace. I've missed having you in my— I mean our— bedchambers."

"My duties leave me with little energy, as I'm sure you understand." Matthew had only slept with the woman once, their alliance still an uneasy one. _She's got a point. If we have a child, a son especially, it'll make them less likely to betray me. _He didn't fancy having both Dorne and the Reach as his enemies. "Tonight, however, I'll be sure and meet you."

Loras shook in rage behind him. Matthew knew the boy still wanted him dead and even a whisper of mistreatment would lead him to become a second Kingslayer. Not that he would, but Matthew didn't put it past his enemies to plant false rumors, perhaps even Margaery herself. _War is so much easier than politics. _

Those of his troops on duty stood outside the Red Keep while the others returned to their homes. Matthew made sure to have agents watch them to ensure they didn't cause too much trouble on their off-hours. He didn't expect them to be saints, but wanted more than an army of brutes.

Upon entering the Red Keep, Matthew's Master of Whisperers beckoned for his attention. "Excuse me, My Lady." Matthew smiled and kissed her hand. Margaery nodded in response, but he expected she'd be eavesdropping on every word. He'd do the same in her position. "What do you have for me?"

"Some of my informants in Volantis have passed on information that the Triarchs have succeeded in hatching dragon eggs," The spymaster cautioned. "They are no more than hatchlings, no doubt, but hatchlings grow."

"Is this confirmed?" Matthew chewed his lip. He couldn't remember anything similar happen in the series. _All the more reason why my preparations are necessary. _Only the Targaryens possessed dragons once, but it appeared as if that was no longer the case.

"Not one hundred percent, but I am certain enough of the accuracy to give you the report." His new spymaster handed him a parchment. Matthew focused on every word, praying it was mistaken.

"Do you have any recommendations?" Matthew expected poisoning them was out of the question. The dragon babies would be well protected. . . but they couldn't be too heavily guarded, lest the secret became exposed.

"I'm working on possible neutralization methods. Even dragons are vulnerable when they are born, but I do not know precisely how long ago this was. The time frame I have is between three weeks and five months."

"Not a lot to go on." Matthew didn't know everything about dragons, but they grew fast and even babies were dangerous. _But since Volantis is fighting against Daenerys, perhaps it won't be necessary to do anything. _"I'll put it on my list of long-term problems. As for our more imminent threat, how large have Daenerys' dragons grown?"

"My best estimate is that they have grown slightly more massive than elephants, Your Grace. I have heard many tales out of Slaver's Bay and cannot vouch for their accuracy."

"Well, my philosophy is to take the worst scenario I can imagine, triple it, and hope it's a reasonable approximation of the true misfortune." His Master of Whisperers laughed. Matthew wished he had been joking. "But I want you to focus on something else. You have agents in Meereen, I trust?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I wish to have Tyrion no longer be a factor." Daenerys had dragons, but her diplomatic skill was non-existent. "If he isn't there yet, he soon will be. Ensure he doesn't leave."

"You're. . . you're talking kinslaying." The man took a step back.

"Tyrion's already killed his father, attempted to kill his good-daughter, and plots against the rest of us. I prefer to call it self-defense." Tyrion and Daenerys would be a lethal combination. _Never should have opened up to the little shit. _Matthew intended to fix that mistake. "Can it be done?"

"I believe so, Your Grace."

"Then make the arrangements." Daenerys was too well-protected for assassination, but Tyrion. . . few would care if a single dwarf ran into misfortune in Meereen. His Master of Whisperers bowed and departed.

Matthew spent the rest of the day dealing with paperwork and mediating grievances among the smallfolk. He'd hoped to implement a few more of his ideas for improving Westeros, a Printing Press in particular, but possessed little time away from his duties to do so. He refused to behave like Robert Baratheon, whose neglect Matthew had still yet to be able to repair.

_All right, who do I have left to deal with? _Matthew did not dare write anything done for fear of it being intercepted. _There's Daenerys, the Night King, or whoever the equivalent is. Robb may decide to attack us again if he gets the opportunity. _He doubted the Boltons would be able to hold the North, at least in the long term.

No doubt there were others, thanks to his arrival changing things, but Matthew refused to be caught unprepared again. He would improve things in Westeros, regardless of how those in court felt about it.

Matthew looked out the window to see the sun had already set. "Expect Margaery won't be happy with me." He chuckled, remembering his promise. Matthew doubted either would feel genuine love for one another, but if they could get along. . . it'd still be better than many marriages on the continent.

"I was about to give up hope of your arrival." Margaery teased, wearing nothing but a thin gown.

"Why would I keep myself from you, beautiful?" Matthew decided to play along. She was a beautiful woman, one he could hold an intelligent conversation with. Perhaps this arrangement would work after all.

Despite a lack of love between them, Matthew did everything possible to pleasure her between the sheets. Based on the sounds Margaery made and her efforts to take the initiative, he doubted she was a maid, but it didn't matter to him. From what he'd found, far fewer women were virgins on their Wedding Day than was supposed.

"I am most fortunate to have you, Your Grace." Margaery relaxed on the bed when they were done. "Not all women are lucky enough to have such caring husbands."

"You can call me Joffrey, at least when we're alone." Matthew pointed out. "And I hope we won't have the kind of marriage my parents did. What of your mother and father?"

"They were strangers when they married, but grew to love one another. My father never remarried after my mother's death from the Pale Mare." Margaery turned her head. "And what of my proposal to about your new weapons? It would make our alliance unstoppable."

"Alliances can be fluid." Matthew gave it consideration. He knew it was only a matter of time before the devices were copied, especially after they'd proven effective against Robb. _And with hundreds of people working on them now, it wouldn't be difficult to find an agent. _No matter how dreadful the punishment, men would risk it for enough gold.

"Your Grace. . . Joffrey. . . my family will soon be capable of building such devices ourselves. While impressive, you aren't the only one to have intelligent people work for you. Giving it to us will show everyone that we stand together."

"Even after lovemaking, your mind is on diplomacy." The Queen of Thorns taught her granddaughter well. "Something to consider, but I'm not in the habit of giving things away. I'll require something in return."

"Let us speak of this in the morning." Margaery kissed his cheek. "And. . . do not expect to delay any longer." She turned to her side and closed her eyes.

_I'm in a corner. _Matthew doubted the threat was an idle one. His cannons and firearms were unique, but wouldn't be for long. _And it seems like dragons may not be unique, either. People have seen the power of both and want them for themselves. _Regardless, he didn't like the idea of the Reach having access to his trump card.

But what he did know about the Tyrells: they didn't want to hold the Iron Throne. They preferred to be the power behind the throne. Matthew expected they'd do their best to turn him into their puppet, as they had with Renly. _But they're too powerful to refuse outright. _Stannis and the Storm lords could keep them in check, at least to a point, but with future enemies on the horizon, Matthew wanted unity.

He thought about it long into the night.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"You are the most incompetent, worthless excuse for a son I have ever had the misfortune of encountering." Roose Bolton looked over Bran Stark's flayed corpse with cold eyes. His bastard Ramsey stood beside it with a smile. "What part of my instructions did you fail to understand?"

"The flayed man is on our banners," Ramsey defended.

"On my banners, not yours, Snow." Roose cut him off. He had indulged the old Right of the First Night on his mother, and it had cost him ever since. Domeric was dead and his only heir a reckless fool. "I told you to capture the Stark children and leave them unharmed! They are crucial for our control over the North. Robb is with the crannogmen and no doubt intends to reclaim his former position. His siblings were key to deterring his aggression."

"Winter is coming, as they like to say, and we can let them freeze out there. By the time it's over, no one will question us."

Roose narrowed his eyes, scarcely able to comprehend his bastard's stupidity. "Our bannermen love the Starks and even fear will not keep them in line without hostages. A peaceful land, a quiet people. If you wish to indulge yourself, I will not stop you, but you should not do so openly." Roose considered his next move. The Lannisters would not support him if he was in trouble. He expected Joffrey had set him up to die.

"Robb will die if he dares to leave that worthless swamp and his bastard cares too much about honor to try anything against us."

Roose found himself at a loss for words. How could his bastard be so incompetent? Domeric had been a fool to seek him out, disregarding his system. _Should have had him killed at birth. _"Our job now is to consolidate our rule. I don't intend to lose our hold on the North the way our ancestors did." Which appeared more difficult every moment.

"Many of Stark's allies have perished fighting the wildlings. No one's going to want to fight a war in winter."

"Winter does not last forever, and the North remembers." So long as the Starks were alive, they would be a rallying point. Roose dismissed those who felt love as fools, but he could not deny the Starks were adored by their bannermen. He'd never achieve anything similar, but fear would do.

They possessed only a few true allies and Ramsey was likely to alienate even them. Roose had received an offer from Walder Frey but had yet to make up his mind on it. The old toad possessed nearly a hundred children and was desperate to marry them off. _I'll be able to squeeze a better deal out of him, then. _

"So long as even one Stark is alive, our position is not secure," Roose declared to his bastard. "Fortunately, two of them have made themselves prime targets. The wolf girl and Ned's bastard are at the Wall." At times, he wondered whether Jon was truly Ned's son but it didn't matter to him.

"Our army will cut through them. The Wall lacks defenses on. . ."

"No, this will require something quieter." Roose refused to make such a brazen move. Even if successful, it would only make him more enemies. "Most of Stark's allies have returned home, but not all. No, I'm going to give you the pleasure of killing them yourself."

Ramsey's laugh echoed through the dungeons. "I managed to take Winterfell. Removing a bastard will be easy for me."

"You disregarded my instructions one. You will not do so again." Roose narrowed his eyes and even Ramsey knew better than to cross him. "Disguise yourself as a mere traveler, travel to the Wall alongside your friends, and remove Snow and his sister as a threat. It must be done quietly and without fuss. This means no indulging yourself. There will be time for that later."

"I understand, Father." Ramsey concealed his disappointment. "They're far too confident for their own good."

"I do not wish my banners to be seen, nor that this is anything more than a random incident. Most who serve at the Wall are criminals and ruffians. It will be easy to place the blame on them."

"I'll leave immediately," Ramsey promised, pulling out a flaying knife.

Roose snatched it out of his hand. "Leave no evidence as to your true identity. And do not screw this up. If you come back and you've failed, the consequences will be. . . considerable." Ramsey got the hint and nodded.

XXXXXXXXXX

_This doesn't look promising. _Tyrion gripped the railing as he walked down the ship's ramp, looking at the sky in a desperate attempt to avoid water in his vision. He'd spent most of the journey vomiting onto the deck or overboard, his stomach unused to the Narrow Sea.

He spotted several fires in the vicinity of Meereen. The Meereenese Knot had beaten the blockade by mere hours and already ships from Volantis had cut off the city from outside supplies. Tyrion had caught a glance of the armies besieging Meereen, though they did not possess the strength to breach the walls.

"You truly mean to meet with Daenerys Targaryen?" The captain questioned, his crew much more accustomed to sea voyages than Tyrion.

"I do," Tyrion doubled over, telling himself not to vomit again. He hoped the city still had a good tavern or brothel. He still possessed a decent amount of money for such indulgences.

"And what do you expect you can offer her?" The captain had become friendly to Tyrion, though the dwarf suspected this was due to the handsome payment he'd been given.

"Everything." Tyrion summed up his plan, refusing to divulge such details to him. No need to make himself an unnecessary target.

Fortunately, he was able to travel directly to Meereen. The thought of going to Pentos, traveling across Essos, encountering who-knows-what along the way. . . Tyrion shuddered at the idea. He might never have arrived at his destination.

Tyrion threw a hood over his head in hopes of being mistaken for a child. Much as he disliked it, he was recognizable and by this point, the King had certainly called for his head. _Not that he'll last long now. _Tyrion swelled with pride over what he'd accomplished.

His nose curled at Meereen's smell, one comparable to King's Landing. Ribs stuck out through the clothing of many former slaves, though Tyrion detected a certain pride which wasn't there before. Merchants sold rats for food on street corners.

Soldiers traveled in groups, complete with shields and spears. They stood shorter than many men, staring through the crowd with experienced eyes. _The Unsullied, _Tyrion realized. He'd heard tales of their skill and power, but it was the first time he had encountered one. Their muscles poised for action, short swords on their belts, the crowd keeping a wide berth. . . Tyrion had no trouble believing the stories.

He fingered the gold in his pocket. Many around him wore hoods to conceal themselves, though none had yet glanced in his direction. Tyrion sidestepped a puddle of urine, not wanting to dirty his still-clean clothes. _On the other hand, perhaps I'd fit in better. _

The crew of the Meereenese Knot had gotten him to his destination, but none would provide Tyrion with any more help than that. At least in Meereen, his face was less recognizable.

Sounds echoed from outside the city walls. Tyrion did not know the specifics, but expected Daenerys was severely outnumbered. Masters were reluctant to let go of their slaves, and even slaves dreamed of becoming masters one day.

_She should be bringing her dragons out there. _From the tales Tyrion had read, dragons were all but invincible on an open field. Daenerys had little knowledge of her family history, but she had to have known that. Yet she appeared reluctant to use them. _Something I'll have to cure her of. _Tyrion smirked at the idea of his sister eaten alive by one.

Tyrion kept his head high and a hand on his dagger. Not that it would do him much good against an experienced enemy, but it would deter opportunistic predators on the street. Desperate people would do anything for survival.

Those who were still relatively well-fed Tyrion expected were the former masters. Several curled their lip at freed slaves, but others were adjusting to the new times. Tyrion's eyes wandered, curious as to whom among them were working against Daenerys. As a rule, those who had power could never give it up. Few would want to be a slave, but many would like to own a slave.

_Perhaps she doesn't have the ability, after all. _Tyrion still searched the sky for her dragons, wishing to see one in person at least once in his life. He knew dragons took many years to mature and while they were powerful, they weren't invincible. _Although I expect they're large enough to eat Cersei alive. _He hoped to run the idea by Daenerys.

A screech echoed through his ears. Those around him stared up at the sky, mixed emotions on their faces. Tyrion followed their lead. . . and witnessed a dragon for the first time. From its distance, he could make out few details, save for its golden skin.

Little wonder the Targaryens were so feared. Daenerys' dragons were babies and if they were already so large, none of their opponents would have stood a chance. He'd long since given up on the dream of having a dragon, but seeing one with his own eyes made it worth it.

And she possessed three of them. Already she had conquered Slaver's Bay, though Meereen was under siege. Their otherworldly visitor was right to see her as a threat.

One building was particularly well-maintained, with a pair of Unsullied guarding it. Based on the giggles inside, Tyrion knew it could be nothing but a brothel. A sudden rush of lust filled his body, reminding him he hadn't been with anyone since Shae.

_Yes, an excellent idea, at least until I figure out how to obtain an audience with Daenerys. _Tyrion wandered into the brothel, curious as to whether they were different than in Westeros. It would be the first time he'd visited since Shae was murdered. _Shae. . . _A pit in his heart formed at the thought of her. He'd failed to protect her, just as he'd failed Tysha.

A dozen women wearing little clothing wandered throughout the brothel with obviously fake smiles while bringing men inside the rooms. Tyrion's ears picked up moans from behind the walls, allowing himself amusement at the idea some men wouldn't realize they were fake.

Looking around, it hardly seemed there was a siege going on. The girls were well fed and most of their clients were as well. Tyrion raised an eyebrow at Unsullied using their services; he'd never imagined eunuchs had any use for whores.

Tyrion rubbed his chin, attempting to decide whether he wanted a woman who reminded him of Shae or someone completely different. He wondered if his father was watching from the afterlife, still disgusted at his propensity for whores. Tyrion gave a dark chuckle, wishing him an audience.

"Ah, a foreigner." A young woman approached him, polite smile plastered across her face. Tyrion noted, while her smile was present, her eyes were dead. "I wasn't expecting many visitors since. . . Tyrion?" She jumped back when he removed his hood.

"How did you know who I was?" Tyrion prepared his dagger in case of danger. Few would have recognized him so easily in Essos. Only afterward did it occur to him he should have pretended otherwise.

"Did you think I'd forget you so easily?" The woman crossed her arms. "I always wondered if we'd meet again." Her voice sounded familiar as well.

Could it be. . . was this. . . "Tysha?"

XXXXXXXXXXX

No King Bran for this story. I never found his segments to be very interesting and when re-reading the books, I mostly skip the Bran chapters. I've got a good idea how this story will end, but things could always change.

Something a lot of self-insert, OCs, etc. overlook is that if the protagonist is able to build all these fancy weapons (by Westeros standards), others are going to be able to do so as well. You need resources and personnel for development and production.


End file.
